Hidden Weapon: Hardened Heart
by OfLoveAndChocolate
Summary: A computers specialist struggles to cope with her brother's escalating obsession to assassinate Dr. Robotnik. She follows him on a renegade mission and learns she is capable of saving not only him, but the entire planet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** For any returning readers, I've fallen into the writer's trap of... _revising_... *cringe* I don't anticipate any major plot changes to the story, rather, I've made a number of tweaks to raise the bar of Mobian authenticity... as well as to increase my own satisfaction in the writing and character development. I hope these changes are all for the best. If not, I retain copies of the old and would be happy to pass them on.

To new readers, welcome! You've stumbled upon my first piece of fanfiction. This story will focus mainly on Dr. Julian Robotnik (the Sonic SatAM version of the character that I grew up with) and _not_ on the Freedom Fighter alliance. I wanted to explore a different side of the Doctor, and am ultimately asking the question "Did he have a single redeeming quality? Or was he really just pure evil?" I feel his motivations were never fully explained in the show so I'll be using some creative liberty to expand upon his past, and then push him into a new future. He will find a little bit of redemption, and love. (Haters... just _calm_ yourselves. Everyone deserves some love!)

Most of these characters are my own creations (Jade, Orin, Shelby, Chelsea...) but Sega owns everything else. I hold no rights to the characters/environments of _Sonic the Hedgehog_.

This story's book cover, "Their Specialty", is provided by the lovely Rinkusu001. For more of her amazing HW:HH artwork, head over to deviantART.

Rated 'M' for language, violence and potential sexual content.

All that being said, please review and enjoy. :)

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><p><strong>Jade<strong>

Everyone had stopped their exercises. A building of constant motion and turmoil, the training center had stilled. Occupants hushed. All eyes focused on the circling pair.

The _pair_... counterpoints in skill and form, yet linked in the unbreakable bond of blood.

Their combined movements were so fluid, so quick, and all together so beautiful that the duel could almost be called a dance – one of sweat and pain and loss, but also unmatched thrill. It was the only dance the rapt soldiers were trained to admire. If preformed skillfully it brought destruction; if failed, death.

As the pair fought, the crowd swelled. Officers, instructors, trainees, even civilians slipped in – some with readied pens and clip boards, others with preoccupied looks of indifference. And whether they were internally cheering for the Lancing Initiation Master, or publicly shouting for the trainee, they would all witness a glimpse of beauty in the midst of war – amplified further by the inherent beauty of the duelists themselves.

Of the two combatants the woman was faster. Everyone at the Academy knew; had watched her progress. But the brother had grown much stronger over the past year and his advantage could no longer be ignored. He seemed immovable, even as he shifted; bare muscles writhing like serpents every time he lifted his long sword. His form was near perfection, hands cradling the weapon's hilt, not crushing it.

He raised the lance again, but higher, above his head like the native tribes did – like a Mobian would. The pose was unconventional, and risky besides, but the exotic form of fighting appealed to some human soldiers. Most were new and naïve.

The woman paused mid-stride, features softening as she examined her younger sibling's choice in stance. It was hard not to sigh.

_Even when facing the most important match of his life, he's still the eternal show-off. Weakening himself on purpose… _she thought.

She answered her brother's arrogance with focused speed, lance slashing down to meet his, only centimeters from flesh. The blades vibrated together, steel grinding against steel.

"Much better than last year, Orin." the woman praised through a whisper. "Even _with_ the Mobe moves." She slid sideways out of the metallic cross.

Orin stumbled as the pressure vanished, face twisting in disgust. He made a show of brandishing the lance properly, with just one hand, and rushed forward.

The woman received the blow near the end of her blade. The jolt was hard but her mistake hit harder. She felt it on impact; saw Orin's eye's flick to his new target. Before she could retreat he stepped closer, pushing his lance down the length of her steel until their hilts connected. With a quick twist, the swords locked and Orin grinned.

"This isn't turning into much of a test, Lieutenant. I'm kind of disappointed." His voice was loud, meant for the crowd, but his gaze was on his sister. He leaned closer, growling. "Maybe you _should_ just stick to computers, Jade. Give up now, and I promise I won't embarrass you anymore."

Laughter erupted from a group of males in the audience. Jade knew every voice, chuckle, and snicker without looking. They belonged to Orin's closest friends. Most were barely 19, some much younger – boys who called themselves "men", trainees completely devoted to combating a threat they would probably never even see. Along with them one female laugh echoed through the hollow room. _Unmistakably Shelby… _the girl, who in Jade's opinion, needed some serious refocusing. She was completely and openly enamored with Orin, despite his disinterest, but more importantly, despite her celibate vows as an enlisted soldier.

"It wouldn't be much of an initiation test if I just let you win, Private Ashwin." Jade said carefully. She tried to kick out of the hold but Orin sidestepped.

He repositioned with more force, his gray-blue eyes already slipping towards triumph – towards the promises of glory and a future in battle.

"But I've already _beat_ you… just yield." He grunted, pushing hard.

Jade's forearms burned under the weight of her brother; the exertion it required just to match him.

"_Can't…_" she breathed. Sweat slid into her mouth; crept into her eyes.

She blinked away the sting of salt, looking into the glowering face of her brother. His polished lance, meticulously maintained, reflected a band of light across the high angles of his cheeks. His brow furrowed and fell as he pushed. Stubble darkened him, warring with the liquidity of cobalt eyes. He had changed so much within a year… Jade felt she was almost starring into the face of a stranger.

It had become a hard face. A battle face.

_The perfect soldier, like dad… _At any other time, she could envision herself cheering him on to finish his initiation match, to win, to crush his opponent… But this was the last win; the only he might ever taste again before entering the field. _I will lose him, like dad…_

To save him, she had already decided weeks before, she needed to defeat him. _Fail_ him. It would delay his departure… temporarily smother the dread which had clawed its way into her life.

_Everyone will see. The council will have to hold him back, at least for another year._

She _couldn't _lose the match. She couldn't lose Orin.

The Academy trained its recruits in various forms of physical control: strength and adrenaline preservation being among them. Jade had neglected her programming duties over the past months, practicing strength preservation with an intensity she never had during her own initiation trials. She drained herself repeatedly, to the point of exhaustion and then beyond. Agony went from Acquaintance to bitter Companion. It never seemed to be enough though.

She doubted her abilities constantly, most of all when she watched Orin spar. None of his peers could defeat him. Few could harm him. She only found solace in the revelation that as he progressed physically, he also regressed into arrogance – one of the few weaknesses she could exploit.

Her own emotional control remained untamed. If anything, it corroded further under the pressures of training. _If I could only teach myself to channel fear into focus... I could win... _

After a torturous slow wait, Orin had finally shifted. The weight change was infinitesimal, the opening sliver-thin, but Jade reacted.

She gathered her strength reserves, mentally numbing herself to the pain in both arms, and then drew further motivation from her brother's face. There were still innocent parts there amid all the changes, boyish parts she remembered growing up with… the crinkle at his eyes, the chaos of black hair.

_Save him!_

She shoved against his blade. The deadlocked lances squealed in protest as they came back to life; the crowd awakening as well.

Panic surfaced in Orin's face. He tried to compensate for Jade's sudden momentum, sliding his blade downward and twisting his wrists in an attempt to recreate the lock, but it was already too late. With a swift, powerful surge upward, she escaped the steely embrace.

She danced away from Orin's counter stroke, falling into a new stance, purposeful in its defense and respite. Her right knee rested on the floor, other leg extending to the side. Blood felt like fire as it surged through her arms.

Orin examined her with a scowl, rolling his shoulders in languid circles. _He's tiring too._ The disadvantage was a small spark of hope.

She met his gaze and forced her own to harden. As their father used to say, her eyes were "a storm" – sapphire orbs of raging sea, churning around two blackened pools.

"_A sea can calm, and a sea can storm. Save the calm seas for family."_ he would say. _"Storms are for war."_

Orin's eyes held the same storm, the same captivating power, but Jade couldn't remember the last time his seas had been calm... or her own for that matter.

_When will they calm again? When will this war end? _Questions she asked herself constantly.

Orin began pacing an invisible line of division, his movement smooth and predatory. Jade stayed motionless, eyes tracking him, recognizing his delay as fatigue and not his typical dramatics. The audience's energy built under the inaction.

The match official finally spoke up, "Lieutenant, please move the test along."

"Yeah Lieutenant, let's move things along please. I'd like to be _challenged_ before taking your place as Lancing Master." Orin said, his friends laughing again.

Mockery missed target. It was desperation that fueled her.

She burst from the floor, reaching him in two strides. Her lance sliced the air horizontally but was still deflected by a surprised Orin. He parried and tried to press forward but she deflected each blow with precision, fluidly progressing from defense to offense, returning blows as much as she received them. The clang of their lances became metallic rain: a patter of pangs, clangs, tings, thrums, and rings.

Orin bared his teeth from the effort, trying to keep up. Quick, precision combat was not his specialty – his bulky musculature wouldn't allow it. _This is how I'll exhaust him. He can't last long at this pace._ His form began faltering under the rapidity of attacks, each of his strikes carrying less power. Instead, Jade felt urgency pulsing through his blade.

The sisterly part of her cried out for Orin's strife – the humiliation he would bear from the loss, and as a result the hatred he would cast her way. _It will be the worst kind of humiliation for him… beaten by a programmer. _

But she had already decided: the price of his embarrassment was nothing compared to the alternative. She could manage the pain of his potential hatred if it meant saving him from field duty... from a death made by machines.

"Come on, Lieutenant!" Orin roared. "It's been done since you lifted your lance…_ yield_!" He put real strength behind a swing – a decapitating blow.

Jade ducked away, twirling, her blade following. It was so natural, she almost didn't think about it. With a smooth flick, she drew a red line across his exposed calf.

He staggered, crumbling backward. Shelby was somewhere distant, screaming in protest. Jade could barely hear her.

Orin doubled over, dabbing at the blood oozing down his ankle. He looked up at his sister with disbelief, angry eyes flooding with something close to a plea as he finally recognized her determination.

That _look_… that vulnerable look… and suddenly Jade's lance felt too heavy.

_You have to save him from that life!_ But his face was preventing her... _Don't look then_…

Her eyes slid to the cords in his neck – thick bands of sinew and tendon, throbbing quickly. She forced herself to imagine that neck belonging to something else, _anyone _else… a training droid… a SWATbot… Robotnik himself... and then her sword was a connected appendage again. It flowed through the air.

An audible gasp came from the crowd. Orin tried to tilt his head away. The match official rose from his chair.

Jade was, just for a moment, offended that so many people doubted her intentions.

Her final attack, the attack that would certainly pass for a robotic kill in battle, never made contact with Orin's neck. The blade halted just a whisper away from skin. Blood from his calf wound dripped off the sword and onto his chest, melding with rivers of sweat.

The crowd exhaled. The end was not really an _end_, just a merciful loss. Their apprehension turned to praise. Applause boomed off the cavern walls.

When Orin tensed his lance arm, Jade eased her blade against his neck.

"It's done, Orin. Let it go."

The official saved her from arguing any further. "That's enough Private Ashwin! You're beaten. Lay down your lance!"

Orin squeezed the weapon for a second longer before tossing it, all care for the tool vanishing. _All care for me… vanishing…_ The scrape of steel against stone was lost in the cheering.

His closest friends were soon at his side, trying to usher him out of the ring. Shelby pulled off her training tunic and kneeled, fighting to press the fabric against his wound. Orin threw their arms and assistance off easily, like the weight of his lance. Nothing could draw his glare from Jade.

She watched the intensity build behind his eyes… a storm… all directed at _her_.

_So this is what his hatred looks like... _she realized.

_"_They were _right_." he said, punctuating every syllable with malice. "This whole time… they were right about _you_."

_They? _

Jade couldn't even utter an apology. "_Who_ was right? Orin, what do you…"

But the boys were finally pulling him away. Spectators flooded the floor to replace them. She lost view.

People encircled her completely – a slew of officers and colleagues. She was dead to their smiling faces; their misplaced congratulations. _A false victory. The continuation of a title... "Lancing Master"... it means nothing. _

She rose on her tip-toes, scanning above the faces for another glimpse of Orin. She found him slamming through an exit door, his own crowd following close behind.

The last of her happiness seemed to leave with him. Her lance fell.

_He hates me... But I've saved him._

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><p><strong>Julian<strong>

_Many miles away, across plains and seas..._

It was still early, the planet's second sun barely beginning its assent towards the pink horizon. In the depths of a cold room, at the center of a silent city, a wall-sized monitor flickered to life. There were no windows – just glowing dials, screens, and control panels – allowing the approach of sunrise to go unnoticed. The only indication of morning came from an oversized digital clock, projecting the hour in green neon.

Dr. Julian Robotnik considered the rise of the second sun (referred to as Sn2 in his data entry) quite inconsequential. Unless he was working on solar cells or atmospheric evaporation constants, Sn2 along with its sister sun Sn1, were just more stars in the sky. The Doctor's real passion was technology, specifically robotics, and by extension all the applications it could afford his quest for planetary dominance.

Today, like most other days, he would miss the sun rise. He would instead rise with the glow of computer monitors and his plans for further advancement.

"Status reports, Snively." he demanded, sitting back.

A stunted man stood in front of an illuminated computer monitor, fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard. Whisps of black hair seemed to sprout randomly from his scalp, the remnants of a once thick mane. His blue, bulbous eyes scanned the screen readouts before answering.

"All systems operational and intact sir… except for, of course, the backup generator."

The Doctor's large, fleshy fist smashed into his throne-like chair. Snively flinched, but stayed turned away.

"That _damn_, meddlesome _hedgehog_… No more delays. I want that generator repaired_ today_!"

"But sir… as you know, the majority of worker-bots have been commissioned to work on-"

"Yes, I _know_ Snively," the Doctor's voice was rising, "and I don't care. The generator repairs _will _be completed by this afternoon, even if _you _have to be the one fixing it!"

The lackey cringed.

"Yes, sir…" A long silence punctuated his subservience. The man tried more pleasant news. "Oh sir… a video message was received from the western building site earlier this morning."

"_Good_." Robotnik purred, relaxing into his seat again. "Play it now, Snively!" His chair rotated to face the wall monitor, gloved fingers steepled in anticipation.

The screen flared with pixilated life, a yellow lizard standing in frame. The reptile's slitted eyes darted between the lens and whoever was holding the recording device, tongue flickering outside his mouth.

"Doctor, I'm able to report that construction is running on ssschedule." The lizard began. The video panned up to his right, revealing a colossal metal aircraft in the distance. Countless floodlights bathed the site in columns of white. A crane, partially shrouded by the darkness, swung metal piping into an opening in the craft's incomplete hull. Scurrying dots moved to secure the heavy load.

The lizard continued as the camera zoomed in on the workers. A few were unrobotocized - still organic flesh and blood. Metal collars glinted around their necks.

"But, we did have to _recruit_ more laborersss to meet your requesssted work quota… which took time and energy that wasssn't planned on. The worker-botsss you sent couldn't do all of the manual labor… It'sss not in the contract… but we will need additional compensssation." It was more of a demand than a request. "It took a day to capture enough localsss to finish loading the fuel cellsss and two from my team were injured corralling the bastardssss…"

In the distance, a shower of sparks rained down the side of the craft. One of the ascending pipes shrieked as it ground against the hull, close to slipping out of its bundle. Alarms were sounding, worker-bots swarming. The crane swayed dangerously under the strain.

The lizard looked on dispassionately, turning back to the camera.

"As I ssssaid, additional compensssation will be required for my lossesssss… Thessse local workers are not skilled or cooperative… but we will manage. The craft is nearly operational. Preliminary artillery tessssting should start tomorrow… Your requested report issss attached."

The screen went black.

Robotnik turned back to the main monitors. He was quiet for several moments, fists clenching and unclenching. Snively dared not breathe.

Finally, and evenly, the Doctor spoke, "Review the report Snively, and send more surveillance orbs to the site. I want visuals of the capacitors… If the reptiles are using _locals_ for labor I need evidence that the craft's systems have not been _compromised_."

_Those idiotic lizards could have put Freedom Fighters to work! If the rebels were to get a hold of my plans… _Robotnik seethed at the thought. The possibility of his operation being compromised _again_ flushed his pale face crimson.

However unpleasant and methodically stupid the reptile mechanics were, he needed them. If their foreman had been right about anything it was that the worker-bots truly _couldn't_ construct the entire craft alone. If they could, the Doctor would sooner roboticize the money-grubbing lizards than work _with_ them_._

_A likely potential, and an appropriate use for the vermin once this project has reached an end._

Relying on freethinking and ultimately free-willed organic creatures had become a new experience in dealing with the infuriatingly incompetent.

"…Should I reply to their request for additional funds, sir?" Snively asked after the pause.

"The lizard said it himself." Robotnik answered. "Procuring slave labor was_ "not in the contract" _and thus is _not_ an expense I am willing to pay for… He will in fact be lucky if I pay him at all."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'd like to direct any interested readers to a relevant DeviantArt page. _Rinkusu001 _has made a few wonderful Jade/Julian drawings. I personally love _seeing_ a character, (especially my own OC) and was ecstatic to find that Rink drew a perfect Jade. Thanks to her again for all those goodies. :)

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><p><strong>Jade<strong>

She had managed to escape the training center, though she wasn't sure how. Her journey through barrack hallways was a haze. Cold stone… echoing voices… the blur of a passing person… flickering cable lights... a warm hand pulling her through mazing tunnels.

It wasn't until motion stopped and a door banged shut that Jade woke from loss, from the shock of hurting her own brother.

_Orin… he hates me... I… I injured_ _him…_

Her roommate, Chelsea, was cupping her face. Round russet eyes demanded attention.

"Jade? Are you okay?"

She blinked slowly, refocusing. A question had been asked_… but I have my own questions… Orin… is he okay?_

The limestone floor held no answers, just long rivulets of fissures.

Chelsea guided her into a chair. "You're too quiet and it's starting to scare me…" The girl reached for a water pack, extending it. "Here."

Sore muscles battled against thought, urging Jade to stay still, but her senses were returning. A deep, rushing need overwhelmed her. Water could wait; Orin could not. She pushed the pack away from her face. _I need to talk to him, explain, something… _

She stood, wincing out words. "I didn't even say I'm_ sorry_."

Chelsea caught her, clamping down on both shoulders. "Oh, no you're not! _That_ conversation can wait." She anchored Jade to the chair. "Orin is busy patching himself up right now, just like _you_ should be. What you need to do is rest."

Jade shook her head, hair flying around in dark, slicing arcs. She grabbed onto Chelsea's hands, trying to pry them off, trying to stand… _have to explain, have to get away_… Chelsea barely moved though, solid and patient as Jade struggled.

"_Relax, _Jade… you need to _relax_."

The words were drawn out, soothing. They eased the thrashing. Eased Jade's arms. Made her slow down. Think again. Feel. Remember _who_ she was struggling against – a girl she had learned to love as a sister – the wrong person to fight with her frustrations.

Arms slackened. The concern etched in her roommate's face was too tangible. Another day perhaps, a stronger day, she might have broken free, but today Chelsea's strength and argument seemed too much to overcome. And she _did_ feel sore. The adrenaline had worn long ago, replaced with a sluggish ache. She noticed her forearms twitching, her biceps tingling uncomfortably. A phantom lance seemed to rest in her palms, blood coated.

_I hurt him… _

A different type of wound to carry... She exhaled, succumbing to the flood of post-match pain. It mixed with the sharp bitterness of victory. Above it all was a bass-like throb at her temples.

Chelsea nodded and let go, full lips quirking. "That's the second time today you've done what I asked without putting up much of a fight… Did I miss the part of that match where Orin punched your brains in?"

Jade answered with a half-hearted shove, wishing she could attack the jibe with more strength. Chelsea exaggerated a stumble.

"Initiating assault on a fellow officer?" She smiled, "Oh no, Lieutenant, I think you're still just _fine_."

_If that were only true. "Fine" is so relative… _

Chelsea's laugh faded as Jade's face darkened further.

"You know," The girl cleared her throat. "They wanted to take you to the medical ward when you blanked out back there… but I thought you'd rather come here. Was I wrong?"

Jade looked up from her twitching muscles, her guilty hands. A stone ceiling loomed above them, thick and oppressive. Walls had been sheared off roughly, crevices stacked like brickwork. Furnishings were sparse. It was dead, heavy space – a tomb to live in. The last place she wanted to be.

"I'm okay here." The words were distant. Somehow, they made her feel ungrateful, as if she was ignoring the true worth of winning. Sulking instead of rejoicing…_ You saved him! He'll live now! Be happy for it!_

Happiness was so foreign though – a tantalizing moment with no permanence. It was snatched away by her mother's death, her father's disappearance, and now, in Orin's hatred. She had come to believe there could never be any real happiness for a human on Mobius.

Chelsea disregarded the sulking. She lifted Jade's limp arms, scanning exposed skin.

"Any cuts?" she asked.

Jade closed her sapphire eyes. "No."

Chelsea's tone turned incredulous. "You sure? No nicks even?"

_I wish he _had_ cut me – given me something to feel besides sore muscles and my stupid emotions. _

She gave a slow head shake.

Chelsea dropped her patient's hands, sighed, and stepped back. "Alright then, _supreme_ Lancing Master. I'll hold off on the first aid supplies mere mortals would require and just grab some ice packs."

A grin pricked at Jade's lips, like an itch, but she didn't let it form. Not yet. Not so soon. Instead she gave off more storm, massaging her arms harshly, scowling at the pain she deserved.

Chelsea's shouldered a backpack and pulled their dorm door wide. Passing trainee chatter leaked into the room. "I'll be back in a few." She started to pull the handle, then stopped. "And don't leave while I'm gone. Sit there and _relax_. You'll just tear more muscle if you try to find Orin."

Jade waved her roommate out, hating how right the girl was, but knowing she would still comply. _Get iced, then you can go see him._

The echoes of life persisted after Chelsea shut the door – distant murmurs which often became questionable in darkness. Haunting sounds to new recruits.

The noises didn't bother Jade. If anything, she felt there was never_ enough _sound below ground. There were narrow corridors, damp tunnels, where the loudest yells turned to whispers. Places where the mountain swallowed up a human voice as if it were air to breathe. Those were the places she found most unnerving, and if she had to guess, it was one of the reasons the Academy chose to train its recruits underground. The more off-putting their day-to-day environment, the better prepared soldiers might be to face the dark, mechanical legions of Robotnik one day. To infiltrate the monstrous city he had built.

Although, she wasn't sure if combat training in intimidating tunnels would ever be enough to prepare _her_ for that future. So far, her position as lead networking programmer had exempted her from field duty.

She had always hoped Orin craved a similar life, a _safe_ life – possibly as an instructor – but as he grew and trained, his interests were always beyond the tunnels, beyond the city walls. She had never stopped trying to persuade him away from field duty – especially after their dad failed to return from his own mission. That loss had… _changed_ him. Focus on his training had become terrifying and her attempts to comfort him were cast off coldly. Robotnik no longer seemed to be his only enemy.

Jade's own comfort had been forgotten around the same time, save for Chelsea's near-maternal concern. The girl's words were still in her head, chastising; "_Wait for the ice. Wait to talk to Orin. Relax!"_

An air vent hissed, pumping fresh oxygen into the room. She stopped massaging her shoulders – the hurt was greater than the help anyway. Icy numbness would be bliss. She released a tight ponytail and hair flowed down like a dark, wavy sea. A scalp massage felt infinitely better.

Flexing fingers paused as something hummed – a warm and beckoning sound in the quiet.

_Still on? _She thought, turning to look.

A quartet of monitors stood blackened but a standby light flashed from one of the battered computer towers. _One, two, FLASH. One, two, FLASH._ The distraction was welcome, even if it meant Chelsea had forgot to shut down her work station, _again_.

Jade stood, grunted, and slid onto the bench. The screen to Chelsea's work computer popped on, backlights illuminating. A number of open chat-logs filled the display. Some seemed work related, however most appeared to be recorded trainee chats.

_This is what you waste your our electricity allowance on, Chels? Checking up on trainee gossip?_

She frowned at the layered files and fought the urge to cancel out of all programming with a keystroke. Instead, she began skimming each page individually, checking for any important unsaved data.

Six boxes in, she stopped clicking.

_FISKE SQUADRON RECRUITING NOW_

The link header sat bold and menacing at the bottom of a minimized log page, the name chilling in a distant way. Another warlord she had never met but was taught by the Academy to fear.

Major William _Fiske_, the defective leader. A man clouded by rumors: some of mere disappearance, others of death… yet undisputed by all, a man who killed machines and _men_ with equal detachment.

She scrolled up, a prickling sensation on her neck. _Chels, what did you find?_

file:11354980 ASHWIN, O. 05:08 57/5/35

**SWIFTJUSTICE:** PRIVATE ASHWIN. YOUR ATTENTION IS REQUESTED.

**Roarin' O:** I'm here.

**SWIFTJUSTICE:** REVIEW AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. ONLY ONE TRANSMISSION PER RECRUIT, UNDERSTOOD PRIVATE?

**Roarin' O:** Yes sir.

**Roarin' O:** And thank you sir.

**SWIFTJUSTICE**: _FISKE SQUADRON RECRUITING NOW_

A shiver ran through her, electrifying every arm hair. It was too much to comprehend.

Orin's chat-tag, _Roarin' O_… linked in a minimized box to the name of a… _defector_? She tried to focus on scraps of reasoning amidst a whirlwind of questions.

_It can't be a _real _recruitment request… it's just a junk link… just another trainee talking to Orin… Fiske is probably dead anyway… and besides, that time stamp can't be right… he wouldn't be online, not right before an initiation match… maybe it isn't even Orin. _

She pulled up the data address, scrutinizing it. Practiced daily checkups on trainee files and assignments had made her memorize location codes. The one she stared at matched Orin's dorm local; his assigned computer. Each numeral and digit… a perfect match.

_His_ words. _His_ conversation.

A twinge of annoyance: Why hadn't Chelsea mentioned finding this earlier?

She let out a breath, grasping a handful of hair, twisting it tightly. The logical side of her, the programmer, didn't expect it to work – the chat-log was only a copied temporary file – but the sister in her clicked the imbedded link anyway.

_FISKE SQUADRON RECRUITING NOW_

She clicked it again when it refused to open. And then again. Higher up was the answer, the obvious solution for a computers specialist with unlimited access to anything and everything within the Academy's networking.

"_ONLY ONE TRANSMISSION PER RECRUIT…"_

But should she? Hadn't she destroyed enough of Orin's hope today? Could she also completely disregard his privacy by hacking into his dorm computer? To view the history of a file which was probably nothing except another junk link between trainees? Fear was making her unreasonable again. Old worries were rising up, fresh and greedy.

_It's just a junk link. That's all it is!_

But her fingers twitched over the comfort of keys. It would be so _easy_ to be relieved of this small fear. Just a few keystrokes. Nothing painful. Nothing like inflicting a lance wound in a moment of desperation. Nothing like cutting away Orin's dreams of field duty with the following stroke…Watching him _hate_ her.

Checking his computer to look at just _one _file would be nothing.

She brought up trainee data logs before she could change her mind, finding ASHWIN, ORIN quickly, right under her own name. _So close, but now so far from me._

Reports soon loaded and jumped up the screen – the Academy's records on Private Orin Ashwin. A nearly perfect student, his marks were only marred by one failed examination. The F looked strange and ugly amidst a column of symmetrical A's.

She forced herself into mindless detachment, ignoring the guiltiness that F conjured, and navigated further into Orin's own user interface. White lines of code blinked out of existence as she entered a final command. Orin's desktop background faded into view, taking over the display.

His chat-logs were closed but a check into the computer's history brought up pages of data. The internet activity went back weeks – the morning's activity a whole three pages alone.

_He's been busy today…_ The thought fed her unease, making her suddenly feel much farther away from her brother. It hurt to acknowledge they weren't as close as they had been before their dad was declared MIA, but she had still believed she _knew_ him. Orin was supposed to loath technology… He was the one who had scorned her career choice publicly; the one who had grudgingly sat through electronic communications courses only to pound away at computer keys like they were more robotic minions who needed destroying. He was the one who had advocated a world without wiring and circuitry; a place without easy, detached, machine wars; a world where a person had to pay with blood to facilitate change, not stockpiled titanium alloy.

The abhorring machine armies Robotnik created had blinded him to the outreaching benefits of peaceful technologies – benefits Jade believed in and wished he could at least acknowledge, if not someday embrace. Computers weren't only made for destruction.

She scrolled through more pages of Orin's internet history. She had been so sure of his feelings… but_ this_? This was _hours_ of daily time spent on a computer. It wasn't even close to the barely-used archive she had expected.

It would take hours alone to skim through all of the suspicious messaging…

_Did I actually just consider that? You broke his privacy for ONE file, not to read through his personal chat-log history, no matter how weird it appears._

She clicked away from the history, if a little grudgingly, and worked on pulling up previously downloaded documents, fingers padding softly. The task distracted her from the hollow gasp of an opening door.

Chelsea dumped her bag on the chair Jade had vacated. "I should've figured…" she sighed, "Working already. Not _resting_."

Jade faintly wished her roommate had come home later, after she had been able to find nothing of significance within the Fiske link; after her heightened state of fear had returned to placid anxiety, something she could manage.

She tried to suppress the irritation in her voice but worry still slipped through.

"Chels… why didn't you tell me about the chat-log you found this morning?"

Chelsea stopped digging through the bag's supplies. "Ahhh, which one?"

Jade threw a hand at the computer screen. "The _one _between Orin and this "_SWIFTJUSTICE_" person."

Chelsea looked away, kneading the icepack she had retrieved. Guilt contorted her easy smile, making her look much older than seventeen, at once vastly responsible.

"I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner..."

Jade sighed deeply, making Chelsea's eyes snap to meet hers. The explanation tumbled out.

"But Jade, believe me, I was _going_ to tell you! I just thought it would probably be better to wait until after the match – so you wouldn't be distracted. I wanted to save you from worrying."

_I'm always worried. That might be all I know how to do anymore. Can I really blame her?_

Jade turned back to the screen, typing again. Her voice was smaller when she finally spoke.

"You should have told me as soon as you found it… I'll _always_ want to know about anything Orin related."

Chelsea slid onto the bench, tentative as she balanced the icepack on Jade's shoulder.

"Alright, in the future I will…_ although_, in my defense, that link wouldn't even open up when I tried it… and you told me only legit Academy files retain their signatures if copied... So, I figured it was just another junk message someone wanted to forward Orin; not anything_ really_ worth mentioning right away."

Jade nodded slowly. The logic behind unofficial Academy link-forwarding was sound; was something she had already considered, but there were _other_ possibilities, ones which extended beyond the academy's networking. Methods Chelsea, or any of her other understudies in computer programming, wouldn't know about. And such far-reaching possibilities didn't sit well…

She would know soon enough. Documents continued to sequentially load against the foreign background. She dug both hands into her hair, cocooning her face, resting her elbows on the desk to form a triangle of protection. The ice on her shoulders was already soothing.

Chelsea leaned towards her roommate and the computer she stared at, squinting at the overlaid windows.

"Wait, _whose_ computer are you on?"

"Yours, last I checked…" Jade said, hoping to divert. A couple more files and she'd be able to reopen the link via the routing on Orin's computer. The thought terrified her.

Chelsea frowned, "Somehow, right now my curiosity outweighs the shock of hearing a joke from you, Lieutenant… Seriously, who are you hacking?"

The loading bar evaporated. A compiled list of previously downloaded links populated the screen: bold-faced columns which seemed to extend into oblivion, staggering in their quantity. Near the top, Jade found the file she had broken her brother's privacy for.

_FISKE SQUADRON RECRUITING NOW _

"Orin's." she answered softly, almost prayer-like. She was preparing herself for the worst. The name Fiske had only ever brought disaster upon the Academy.

Chelsea's hand shifted to rub her roommate's back. "Oh, Jade…You really shouldn't have gone to the trouble. You need to rest. Take a nap or something. Ice up the rest of your arms at least… That link is nothing to worry about…"

_Nothing. Yes. Pleeeease be nothing._

Jade sucked in a breath, and the file opened.


	3. Chapter 3

**Julian**

Heavy, non-metallic footfall echoed up the corridor. The two SWAT-bots guarding the entrance roused at the far-off noise, turning their ovular heads in unison. The movement was almost lifelike, despite its stiff precision. They stilled. Auditory receptors deciphered the subtle vibrational anomolies – information which meant little to a human, but everything when received by robot ear.

They returned to standby mode, inner parts whirling down to silence. Stored records and ingrained programming told them the approaching noise was not a threat. They had quieted completely when their master finally faced them.

Robotnik paid his creations no mind. He only paused to remove a glove, pressing his massive palm to a recognition pad.

A pleasant automated voice spoke, "ACCESS GRANTED".

The reinforced doorway slid away to reveal a seemingly endless corridor. Every few meters circles of light illuminated sections of the grated flooring, leaving the patches in-between ominously dark. At shorter intervals of distance, red lettered information was displayed on wall monitors – each attached to a door.

Robotnik entered the cold silence without hesitation. For a man of his size, he walked swiftly down the corridor, yellow cape flowing behind him. He soon found the cell he was searching for, typing an access code below the glowing monitor. An electronic lock ground free and then the heavy slab of door swung inwards. The light present in the corridor seemed to flood the room's even darker confines.

He needed no time to adjust his vision to the shadowy space; his crimson contact lenses automatically focused for him, revealing a young boy lying on an elevated cot. The boy's back faced the doorway but his head turned toward the intruding light. He raised a hand, blinking blindly.

Robotnik stood in the doorframe, eclipsing himself. "Well, well, Snively was right; we _did_ capture a boy this morning... Forgive me; it has been such a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing another of my species."

He stroked his long ginger mustache as he spoke, face hidden in shadow. "I am Dr. Robotnik, although _surely_, you have heard of me."

The boy stayed silent.

_No matter… _Robotnik mused, stepping further into the room. He pulled a chair from the wall. It creaked as he settled into it.

"In fact, I haven't seen a human besides my nephew in almost… 3 years." He leaned towards the cot, eyes reflective in the shadows, red and animalistic.

"It begs the question therefore, _why_ were you and your friends in _my_ city, attacking _my_ units?"

The words seemed to rumble against the room's steel paneling but the boy didn't flinch. He leaned toward the threat.

"To kill you." He stated plainly. A scratch ran the length of one pale cheek.

The Doctor huffed with amusement and sat back laughing, both hands resting on his shaking stomach. After several moments he brought his face level with the boy's again.

"You are a bold one, but boldness means nothing if accompanied by _stupidity_." He paused then demanded. "Where are the other would-be _assassins_?"

A piece of the boy's hair fell into his face. He pushed it away while glancing at the open door.

"The hell if I'll tell you _anything_, you fat bastard…"

The insult burned white and hot_… too much like the hedgehog… _Robotnik had to force his fists to unfurl, letting slow silence sooth away the need to _crush_ something…

He hadn't missed the boy's look towards freedom. An offer could be made, but it would need to be laid out carefully, _without_ violence. It needed a shard of hope.

"You are not in any position to attempt insolence, boy…" he started, satisfied with the neutrality in his voice.

"My badniks reported seeing other humans with you this morning; their presence in my city_ is_ fact… Now, I consider myself to be a fair man, so I will allow you one more chance, but _only_ one more chance. Tell me their location if you wish to walk out of here…" He gestured towards the doorway, his features devoid of any emotion. "In the same way you entered: as a _human_."

The boy glanced at the door again, mind calculating, trying to hide his longing by looking away. Robotnik watched the play of emotions, fighting to hold back a smirk. He was sure the boy would accept – What child _wouldn't_ grasp for salvation in lieu of the alternative? A choice in near equivalence with _death_. – but then the boy was turning his body, denying the offer of hope with silent refusal, directing his glare at the wall instead.

_Maybe he does possess some intelligence… not trusting me… A pity though, this ordeal would have been much sweeter if he had unknowingly led me to his accomplices. _

The calm vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with rising threat.

"Well then… just because you have denied yourself freedom does not mean you have also denied me the answers I want." He stood, throwing a blanket of shadow over the child.

"You _will_ tell me where your friends are located! It is only a matter of _when_."

The boy met his executioner's gaze, measuring the danger with widened eyes, and for a moment Robotnik saw a flash of desperation, pure and frightened and childlike… _Children were never meant for war… they are too weak… _but then it was smothered, replaced with the same disgusting self-sacrifice as before.

"You might as well robotocize me right _now_ because I'm not telling you _anything_." The boy sat taunt, ready for retribution.

_Not at all like Snively…how disappointing._

Once again he forced his anger down, cape snapping as he turned, stalking for the door. There was something unsavory about the idea of physically threatening a child… He chose not to explore the reasoning… However, the idea of drawing out true, cowering terror from a young human... _that_ option did not seem to bother him.

He paused for one last try at the boy's nerves.

"I wonder if it will be as easy to extract information from a human as it is from the rodents who have overrun this planet…" His tone dropped, deep and promising. "But I suppose if it isn't, then your refusal to cooperate has most certainly… _expedited_ your robotinization."

Sharp and quick the boy replied, "I'm still not gonna-"

The cell door slammed, severing the thought. Robotnik sighed, watching an image of his captive yelling on the door's dusty monitor. The hallway was silent despite the loud protests.

"_Sit_!" he growled into a microphone, pleased when the boy jumped at the booming demand, though mildly disappointed by the boy's noncompliance. Large fingers moved deftly over the keypad. He dismissed the cell's video feed by entering a complex code.

The polite voice spoke again. "FURTHER RECOGNITION REQUIRED FOR ACTION".

He spoke his name into the microphone and a blinking screen analyzed his voice signature.

"VOICE RECOGNITION ACCEPTED, PRISONER CELL BEING AERATED WITH TX99."

Above him, threads of piping whispered and hissed with life. Several of the lines ran into the room. He watched the monitor idly as the cell filled with a thick brown gas.

The boy shrank away from the incoming plumes, his eyes wild as they scanned the space for some type of escape, but the cloud quickly consumed him.

After several minutes the room self-ventilated, the boy resolving into clarity. He lay awkwardly on the floor, legs twisted, hands cradling his head.

Robotnik entered another command and the door swung open again. He regained his seat to watch the boy awaken slowly, struggling to coordinate his limbs, fighting to stand. A small dab of drool hung at the corner of his mouth.

"What… what was the, that?" The boy's voice trailed away as he rubbed his eyes.

_Interesting, the effects appear to be nearly identical._

"TX99, is a special creation of mine, specifically made for stubborn individuals like yourself. It should be _much_ easier for you to answer my questions now."

"I-I… I feel _good_." The boy replied. His chin dropped lightly to his chest, dimples forming.

"_Perfect_… Then let us begin again. A simple question to start: What city are we in, boy?"

The answer was automatic. "Robo… Robotropolis, right? But this is, this is a, um, funny looking roooom."

Robotnik watched the boy examine the cell anew. _Temporary memory loss…good. But the long term?_

"What is _my_ name?" he tested.

The boy's head lolled to the side, eyes glazed, squinting, remembering. He finally smiled.

"Hey… you're uhhhh, Ro-robotnik."

"Good…" the Doctor purred. "And what is your own name?"

"Oh, you, you know I'm not sup-supposed to tell you… that!" The boy giggled, moving to the cot.

_Refusal… maybe an even higher dose is required for humans after all…_

"Your name boy, what is it?"

"I guessss I will tell you, but please don't tell ma-ma-major Fiske. He would b-b-be very angry…"

_Well, well…_ _inhibitions diminished… Perhaps the dosage is correct. _He assumed his most mannerly tone; inflections smooth, lies thick.

"Major Fiske, you say? …I don't believe I have had the _pleasure_… although I'm sure a military man of his rank won't be angry; on the contrary, I imagine him being quite proud to learn one of his men managed to gain an audience with me." He gestured around the cramped cell. "As _you_ have done."

The boy blinked. "I… have?"

He leaned closer. "Yes, you have been _very_ diplomatic… Now, if you tell me exactly _where_ this Major Fiske is located, I will be able to personally recount how well you have done on this… _mission_."

The boy ran his hands against the steel wall, looking up.

"Would you re-really? I-I might, make Cap-captain one daaay. That's w-what he told meeee. _'I've got po-ten-tial'_. That's what he said…" He wagged an index finger, mimicking the promises of Major Fiske.

"I agree with him entirely." Robotnik spread his hands in supplication. "But it is impossible for me to recount your heroic deeds if I do not know _where_ the Major is."

The boy's face scrunched; his movement stilled. "Oh I gu-guess I will tellll you, but do-don't say it was me, okay? Just… te-tell him how I did."

Robotnik laid a hand over his heart.

"I _promise_."

Under the drug, the gesture was enough for the boy.

"Welll… we have a re-really secuuure bunker set-set-up outside… the city. And, you know, I'm, I better b-b-be going back there!" He plunged his head into the cot, laughing loudly.

"Outside the city, eh?" Robotnik was speaking mostly to himself but the boy responded, giggling.

"Oh, yeah… yeah it is verrrry secret! Don't telllll the Major I told, ohhhhh-k?"

Robotnik hummed, pulling an electronic device from his pocket and drawing a finger across its face. The tiny screen glowed to life.

"Wh-what's that?" The boy rose from the cot.

"It is a very powerful piece of equipment, for its size – a miniature computer in many respects… If you'd like it can be yours – that is _if_ you lend me your finger."

The boy had begun moving towards the screen but then he stopped, pulling both hands to his chest in defense.

"Why d-do youuuu need my fingers?"

"Not fingers dear boy, _finger_ – just one, and only for a moment. There is a map here, of my city. I believe you must be very familiar with it... You need only point out where your Major's bunker is located."

"I do-don't knoooow…" Despite his verbal hesitation, the boy was already edging closer to Robotnik, his attention on the glowing miniature map.

"This will be yours..." Robotnik waved the mini-computer before the dazed boy, enticing him further. "And you will be a war hero for infiltrating my fortress… All you need do is point to the Major's base."

The boy staggered forward, plucking the device from the doctor's grasp, making it appear much larger in his small hands. He squinted at the displayed picture, eyes sluggishly tracing the pixilated lines of streets.

Robotnik was patient. He followed the movement of the boy's eyes until they seemed to settle on one particular area of the screen.

"Are you ready to show me where the Major is?" he inquired casually.

The boy looked up, seeming to have forgotten the Doctor.

"Yeah, yeah… I know where… it, it'ssss, right here." He stabbed a finger to the screen.

Robotnik leaned forward, inspecting the coordinates.

_Major Fiske, I look forward to making your acquaintance._

He dwarfed his prisoner, plucking the illuminated map away. The boy's reaction was delayed, hands lamely reaching for the prize.

"Wh-what, about the, that commmmputer? I wha-wha-want that! You said…"

Robotnik paused, turning his hulking frame to the boy once more.

"Surely the Major has taught you that only _results _can ever merit reward? Once your friends are here, in this cell block, perhaps then you shall see _this _again."

He pocketed the computer, checking the time. _Maybe I will get some genuine fear out of this one after all…_

"Although, I doubt you would have much time to enjoy your new toy. It would be a waste, really… You see, my robotocizer only runs once a day, and that cycle begins very, very _soon." _He stood in the doorway. "...And I expect to see you there."

The boy's mouth hung ajar, eyelids fluttering in confusion. As Robotnik closed the door, a spark of understanding surfaced on his face, and then terror followed – but the last remnants of light were already sliding across his features, wiping away any chance of his cries being heard outside the soundproof cell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jade**

_Attention Private Orin Ashwin,_

_It is the pleasure of Major William Fiske and Swiftjustice Squadron to inform you that you have been accepted by our operative team for elite recruitment. Your progress in training has been monitored from afar and we are pleased to find you have exceeded our qualifications for combat readiness._

_Unfortunately, you may be feeling underutilized by your current instructors. It has come to our attention that the Academy chose to hold you back last year, due to an insufficient score in a Communications final. We conducted our own investigation into the matter and found that your test materials had been compromised, resulting in the unwarranted failing grade. You passed Private Ashwin but were held back regardless, with no opportunity to appeal as we understand it._

_It is the belief of this operative team that someone within the Academy is trying to stifle your progress, and is by extension denying you the right to serve your city and fellow human beings. This individual would need unrestricted access to academic records to succeed in this injustice._

_If, Private Ashwin, you are as familiar with this war as we believe you to be, you must understand the immediate need for soldiers in field. You must also recognize that the time for languorous, beneath-the-earth graduation trials has past; that your grades no longer matter, nor your graduation. Your talents and energies, however – as well as those of your fellow soldiers – are the most significant weapons the human front has to offer, and they are required above ground, within Robotropolis._

_But how much longer will you be forced to wait for that privilege – because do not doubt it Private Ashwin, in the eyes of the Academy it is merely a privilege to be convoyed into the field, and not a right. Their need for ceremony and decorum have taken precedence over the need to end this war._

_We in Swiftjustice Squadron are offering you an escape from the Academy, as well as an opportunity to serve immediately. If you join us Private Ashwin, you will be assigned to a small, specialized team of like-minded individuals. They will become your brothers and sisters in war. They will provide you with additional training, food, shelter and the peace of mind to sleep soundly at night. Together you will be tasked to the completion of one mission, and only one mission: the immediate elimination of Dr. Julian Robotnik._

_If you wish to join us in this endeavor, please note that our offer of enlistment is expiratory. A rendezvous transport will be waiting for you and additional enlistees at 2700 hours this evening, 2 km northeast of the eastern city gates. You are asked to bring only your issued firearm, and for obvious reasons, you are also asked to exercise discretion in your departure from the Academy. All files and evidence of past correspondence should be erased._

_Consider this offer carefully, Private Ashwin, because it will not be made again._

_Major William Fiske_

_Swiftjustice Squadron_

Jade couldn't move. She was already reading the document again, trying to process each word, each piece of information this_ Squadron_ had somehow managed to gather. Everything they were offering her brother – everything that he so _craved_ – was dangled so close, a mere two kilometers away, that Orin need only reach out – literally _get out_ – and run towards it.

Graduation no longer required. Field duty offered freely. And her efforts all in _vain_.

_2700 hours tonight_, _northeast of the eastern city gate… how much time?_

Her mind flew and fell, the calculation immediate as she found the computer's clock. It was already late – almost _too_ late. Military time glowed 2435. Less than two and a half hours to stop him, to stop _this _from happening. This _Swiftjustice _Squadron… the future Orin might turn to in lieu of his lancing failure.

Most definitely the _"they"_ he had been talking about.

"… _they were right about _you_." _

His words burned even more now that she understood the remark. Suspicions began falling into place: the pages of internet activity, his deteriorating respect for the Academy's authority, his fearsome focus, but most damning of all, his angry admission, _"This whole time…". _

And then there was Swiftjustice Squadron's own reminder, _"All files and evidence of past correspondence should be erased."_

How _long_ had Orin been in contact with Fiske's people to prompt such statements? And why, with all of the daily security checks she performed, had she been_ completely _unaware of outsiders infiltrating the Academy's networking? To talk to Orin… and who knew how many other trainees.

_They know so much… Even about the test… _

That was the part that twisted her insides the most. Such a secret was never supposed to be uncovered, or even worse, be used to _coerce_ her brother into leaving – the ultimate antipurpose of her actions. It was supposed to be buried deep in Academy networking, invisible to anyone's eyes and conscience except her own. She had been so careful, disassociating and distancing herself from the act, and in the end there was no reason to suspect Orin's failing grade in Technical Communication's as being anything more than his own fault.

The hack had been easy – too simple to be life changing – and then she was viewing Orin's electronic test before his instructor could lay eyes on it. A programmer's practiced detachment – the kind that helped her review daily casualty reports – had kept her numb to the whole ordeal, but when she actually read through Orin's essays she faltered in her self-justification. Orin had, to her acute surprise, _mastered_ the material. So much so that she could have apprenticed him as a programmer; pushed other applicants aside based solely on his understanding of Robotropolian network schematics.

And yet, despite all of the swelling sisterly pride that urged her to stop_… Rethink this. Everything he's worked for. Stop… _she had still blotted out the accomplishment – his final exam, his _earned_ right to graduation and field duty – as if it were nothing. For the price of a few essay rewrites and her personal integrity, she had saved her brother from war.

It _had_ been the most selfish decision of her life... until she put a gash in Orin's leg.

No one was supposed to know about her first act of injustice, but somehow, _they_ did. They knew about a changed grade with no traceable history in academic filing. An impossible feat. She couldn't rationalize it.

The answers to her unending questions had to be there, _in the letter_, she told herself. She finished rereading a third time before finally hearing Chelsea's distant, mumbling voice.

"Jade? Are you listening?! Jade, I really had no idea that the link was_ real_! I swear! If I'd known…"

Jade turned, blue eyes leveling with widened browns. Her roommate's words trailed away under the full force of her attention but the hand pressed between her shoulder blades didn't falter. Jade faintly marveled at the power of human touch – how the small hand-to-back connection between her and Chelsea seemed to be the only thing anchoring her to sanity, the only thing keeping her from falling into complete panic. Even a moment ago, when she didn't have the presence of mind to acknowledge the actual _feeling_, it still managed to calm her. How did she ever negotiate adversity before the girl?

_Orin, of course…_ The answer was cruel in its immediacy. _Orin was _always_ there._

Chelsea was made for comforting laughter, not quiet hesitance, but the change in her tone didn't sound disingenuous to Jade. More like long suppressed, or possibly set aside for moments like this.

"Jade, I…" She looked at the computer. "I think we need to take this to the council."

The council of elders; the effective government behind military walls; below ground… If Fiske had twisted any of his lies about the Academy correctly, he was right in his assessment of their need for_ "ceremony and decorum"._ Real results always seemed to take much longer than required – the months Jade had to wait for them to _just _evaluate her equipment requests was evidence enough.

So to hope that they would easily accept the entire, outlandish Major-Fiske-is-still-alive-and-stealing-trainees-away-in-the-night scandal put before them (with little proof but one letter), and then _act _upon that information by sending soldiers out to capture the Swiftjustice men (while also dragging Orin home without punishment) was _beyond_ unlikely. _Beyond fucking possible is more like it._ At best they would grant her a slow, formal hearing in the morning, if only because of the triple stars on her chest.

"No… It'll be a waste of time." She answered.

"But, they'll investigate this…"

"And how long will that take?" Jade laughed bitterly, looking at the digitalized Swiftjustice letter. "Until Orin's already gone? Until he's already sneaking around Robotropolis with these,_ "like-minded"_ people who have no problem following a _maniac_ into battle…against – oh wait, _another_ maniac? …No, I'm not waiting for the Academy's help."

Her physical pains forgotten, or at least ignored, she stood, already breathless. An ice pack fell from one shoulder, sloshing thickly as it hit the floor.

Chelsea's comforting hands were on her again, but this time they felt constricting.

"You should sit down… we'll figure this out."

Jade shook her head, waving the hands away. She felt slightly manic herself, ranting when she should be _acting_.

"… It'll be ok. Just sit." Chelsea tried to guide her onto the bench.

Jade breathed in, closing her eyes. "Please, let me stand and think, Chels."

But the hands didn't leave her. No longer anchors to reality, they now seemed to be pulling her down – drowning her in wasteful inaction as precious time continued to slip by. Orin could be leaving as they spoke…

Chelsea ignored the plea. "Jade, I'll _help_ you. I know you're just–"

"You forget yourself, Corporal!" Jade gasped, finally twisting away from Chelsea's grip.

She was unsure if the girl had actually let her go this time or if she had managed the escape on her own. The former seemed more likely. Chelsea's concern had been neutralized, hands dropping to her sides.

Jade immediately felt the stab of regret. In all their time as roommates, she had never let her fear spill out so harshly, or even worse, used the weight of her authority to reprimand – she didn't even_ think_ that way. Titles meant nothing. They were just more "_ceremony and_ _decorum"_.

But she had clearly hurt Chelsea with her ill-conceived outburst. The girl had straightened, cold and soldier-attentive, and they no longer seemed friends – just officer and trainee.

Chelsea spoke into the silence, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I didn't mean to overstep."

Jade sighed, pulling her jumbled, anxious thoughts into some type of cohesion. _She's your closest friend and you treat her like subordinate shit?_

Apologies had never sounded right coming from her lips. Maybe it was because soft femininity, and the empathetic tones it encompassed, had been long suppressed by military stricture. In the man's world below-ground, she often struggled to make it clear that she was _truly _sorry when she had wronged someone, and not just conveniently remorseful.

She shook her head as she spoke, hoping the emphasis on her roommate's name, instead of rank, would help; that she didn't sound like she was rushing.

"I'm the one that's sorry, _Chelsea_. You don't have to be sorry… That was uncalled for."

The stiffness melted from Chelsea's stance, but her mouth only curved slightly, sadly. She dipped to the floor, grabbing the fallen icepack, and then balanced it back on Jade's shoulder. The gesture came so easily to Chelsea, as forgiveness and understanding always seemed to come from the girl, that Jade felt better and worse at the same time.

"I get it. You want to find Orin," Chelsea started, sitting at the bench again, "But you don't have to do everything by yourself all the time… Some _Corporals_ happen to have Tuesday evenings off and wouldn't mind taking on a little weeknight assignment if it meant their commanding officer – let's say a_ Lieutenant_ – would be in a better mood come tomorrow morning."

Jade appreciated her roommate's offer beyond measure – even with the sarcasm. Probably because of it actually. The friendly normality was reassuring. – But tomorrow morning was too far ahead to think about and it bothered her that the potentials of the situation didn't seem to be affecting Chelsea as much as they were her… Tonight was all that mattered. All that might ever matter if she failed in keeping Orin from _leaving_.

She plucked the icepack from her shoulder and tossed it on the couch, moving across the room. It was a small relief that her muscles only seemed to be smoldering now.

Chelsea's brows scrunched, warm eyes tracking her. Her voice turned soft and tentative again.

"You know the "Corporal-Lieutenant" part was just a joke. …I _do _want to help."

"I know. And you will." Jade answered over a shoulder, palming the door to her room. Her slim silhouette stretched into the space, sliding up the opposite wall. The room was even more cave-like than their shared common room – damp and windowless, limestone walls sloping down from a low ceiling to form a half-dome. Claustrophobia used to grip her in the impenetrable dark of lights-out, but that time had since passed. Or maybe it had just been managed.

She raised her voice when Chelsea didn't follow. "I'm going to find Orin, while _you_ go to the council."

"But, you said that–"

"I wouldn't waste _my _time?" She tugged off her training tunic, speaking through the fabric. "I'm sure you won't get anything except a dismissal, but they need to see this information regardless… And that's not me saying you _shouldn't_ try. I still want you to try. Focus on how crazy Fiske is, and they _might_ be concerned enough to actually do something tonight."

The challenge of a difficult negotiation always seemed to brighten Chelsea's mood, sometimes to near florescence. Jade heard the suppressed excitement, the delay in her roommate's reply.

"Alright, okay, I'll go… But what do I tell them when they ask why their head programmer didn't come to report on the networking security breech, _herself_?"

Jade's skin felt tight and salty but there was no time to shower. She shrugged into clean fatigues, gathering her wavy hair into a ponytail, hairband between her teeth.

"…Tell them I'm incapacitated. Iced to the neck and recovering, something like that…"

She was momentarily distracted by a separate thought. _If Orin's already snuck out you won't have time to come back for supplies._

She spun around her room, looking past the shadowing forms of bed, dresser, and desk; finding her slingsack hanging over a chair. She stuffed it quickly as Chelsea appeared in the doorframe, casting a longer shadow than her own.

"You _should_ be iced to the neck and recovering… And since when did you need _that_ to talk to your brother?!" Chelsea crowed, looking between Jade's face and the handgun she was sliding a power cartridge into.

"I'd rather have it than not." Jade answered seriously. It wasn't the lance she preferred, but its easy concealment made more sense.

She tucked the gun into her pack's front pocket and slung the bag on, feeling the weight, judging how fast she could move – how fast she could _run_ if need be. On the training track she could do two klicks under eight minutes, but aboveground was mountainous. Uneven and dangerous. Night would slow her down even more… and besides all that, there were her post-match pains to consider.

_Let's pray it doesn't come to a run. You'll find him in his room. Believe it. _

"What are you going to say to him?" Chelsea asked, still frowning.

Jade wanted to ignore _that_ question. _What will I say?_

She turned away from the pressure, searching for anything she might have forgotten. Her focus settled on a steel bookshelf. On its top, flanked by a pair of speakers, a SWATbot head was centered amidst a mess of spilled-out circuitry, like some sort of gruesome trophy. Jade pulled her red media player out of the nested wiring.

She palmed the small device and wound its dangling earbuds around the case, finding comfort in the simplicity of the act. As scratched and battered as the casing was, she still caught a flash of silver inscription before pocketing it, the name and words engraved deeper in her own memory.

_Eliza Ashwin_

"_Its language is a_

_language which the_

_soul alone understands,_

_but which the soul_

_can never translate."_

The words and the device were the closest thing she had to a family heirloom; the only impractical personal effect worth taking. Music. _  
><em>

Chelsea was still waiting for her answer, arms crossed, watching. "What will you say?" she repeated.

Jade puffed out a breath and made one last room turn. She realized she was stalling now. The fear of facing her brother was _not _greater than the fear of losing him… so why was she squeezing the straps on her pack, fidgeting to find a tangible outlet for her apprehension? _Find him…_

She forced herself to acknowledge her concerned friend and then the difficult question.

"I'll just… whatever his intentions are, I'm going to tell him everything I know… and then ask him to stay."

"And if he just… _won't _stay?" Chelsea said softly.

The word _won't_ – and all of its stubborn, brotherly implications – finally pushed Jade from the room.

"Then I'll_ make_ him."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: The quote inscribed on Jade's, inherited MP3 player was made by Arnold Bennett, an English novelist who wrote a bunch of books that I haven't read. Or probably ever will. Good quote though. Sums up how I envision music working within this story, because it will be important...

On the topic of music, I can't help wondering: What would Julian listen to? Snively? (aka Colin in later chs when I go a little Archie on y'all)


	5. Chapter 5

**Julian**

The hovercraft hummed rhythmically as it zoomed above Robotropolis; the city gray and opaque in the late afternoon smog. A light mist of acidic rain had begun to collect on the vessel's roof, streaking down the domed glass windshield in random, snaking rivers. Snively sat at the controls, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Every few seconds he glanced at a small monitor before readjusting their flight trajectory. Despite the almost deafening thrum of SWAT-bot transports flying alongside it, the craft's inner cabin was quite peaceful and relaxing.

The squadron of SWAT-bots could have completed the mission on their own, but that would have been too impersonal. When the possibility of capturing enemies arose, Robotnik nearly always accompanied his army to witness the festivities first hand. In some instances his presence had been proven unnecessary – a false lead pulling him away from more important work – but today he believed the trip outside the city would truly be worth his time. Stealth-bots had sent high resolution images of the area in question, and although no evidence of a bunker could be determined visually, unusually high readouts of power distribution were then reported from that section of supposedly lifeless cityscape.

He sat at the rear of the ship thumbing through an index of construction site reports. His eyes slid over diagrams, photographs, and recent work projections made by the lizards he had contracted. The reading quickly became tiresome, the index heavy, and soon it was slipping from his grasp. His head drooped, and he only fought momentarily to stay awake before surrendering to the depths of sleep. Falling into the ambiguity of a different world, his dreams melded with the sounds of reality.

In the dream he had an acute feeling of lightness, as if he were floating, or was even separated from his body. There was nothing to see, only hazy open space. He wondered what he was doing, bobbing around without any objective. _This is utterly pointless._ But then shades of bright green burst into view and his worries vanished.

There, below him, lay a lush field, still damp and thick with summer rain. Water droplets hung lazily from the tips of grass blades and spiky pastel flowers. Moisture saturated the air. He couldn't be sure, but it felt like early morning – light just beginning to peak through the tall trees circling the field.

For a moment, he felt at peace suspended above the surroundings. There was a vague familiarity that was comforting, almost pleasing. He forgot about the machinery and darkness of his city, simply taking in the presence of unaltered life.

The need to be closer to the field, to lie in its wet tresses, suddenly overwhelmed him. Reaching desperately for a handful of grass, he flailed both arms. Yet, the harder he tried to touch the landscape, the more distant it seemed to become, falling away from him quickly. He recognized his error and froze, hoping to float closer again.

Then a voice, soft and calm and motherly spoke from the surface of the field.

"_You've abandoned me. This is not for you. You cannot have me."_

He tried to speak, but words would not form. He could only plead with his thoughts, asking to be admitted to the field over and over again.

The voice responded in a different, sharper tone.

"_No you, no! YOU CANNOT HAVE ME!"_

He woke abruptly, rising off his chair and huffing loudly. His pet and creation, Cluck, chattered from the movement; the metallic bird sat perched on his shoulder, its wiry talons digging into him more firmly. As if anticipating an explanation, a small expressionless eye seemed to stare at the Doctor's face.

Robotnik nudged two fingers underneath the robotic creature, prompting it to step onto his hand. Petting the sensory receptors of the bird's back, he cooed softly.

"There, there Cluck, nothing but a dream."

_If not a strange dream…_ He couldn't help acknowledging the strangeness of his recent preoccupations during sleep. Some of his best ideas had _used_ to come to him through dreams, but now he only seemed to be assaulted with useless, wayward thoughts as he slept – each as meaningless in form and message as the ones before it.

_As if I can't have this planet. It's already mine!_

Cluck opened his hinged beak, emitting a high-pitched call before nipping affectionately at the Doctor's gloved hand. Snively looked back, glaring at the bird before inquiring.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Robotnik's voice became gravely. "Yes, of course I'm fine. Where are we now?" He looked out a small porthole. Clouds obscured the transports beside them.

"Four minutes until arrival."

"And the life form readings in this area, Snively?" he asked, the greenness of the dream still looming heavily in his mind's eye.

"Still negative sir, although the accuracy of detection is questionable at this altitude."

Robotnik threw aside the reports he was previously reading. "I want _new_ read-outs as soon as we land then… and a perimeter set-up immediately!"

"Yes sir" Snively mumbled.

The Doctor rose, dropping Cluck lightly in his place. The bird flapped its wings with an air of irritation.

The man lowered his voice. "Stay here Cluck; it's _much too noisy_ for your little audio receptors back there." He ran a finger over the bird's beak once more and then swept towards the rear of the craft, sliding through an airlock before entering the noisy cargo bay.

The space was fairly dark, but his electronic lenses found what he was looking for almost immediately – a large wooden crate situated near the cargo hatch. He pried open the lid with his robotic arm to expose a selection of gleaming laser weaponry. A new, more sinister type of affection fell from his lips.

"Oh, how _pretty_ you all are… just as I requested. But which to use on this _special_ occasion?"

He decided with a wicked smile, cradling the largest and most intimidating of the lot, pointing it at invisible targets. The boyish thought of test firing it in the small room passed through his mind momentarily, but then the hovercraft bounced, signifying the near-weightlessness of descent. He shouldered the heavy weapon and returned to the cabin.

Snively was shakily maneuvering the craft as it moved into a thick cloud bank. His eyes darted rapidly between the controls, an altimeter, and a city sonar projection.

Robotnik came to stand behind the pilot's chair, his metal hand clasping the entire head-rest. He peered out into the seemingly impenetrable smog and clouds. Snively, now mumbling strings of obscenities, gripped the flight controls with white knuckles.

"You fool, _why_ haven't you engaged the automatic landing sequence?!" Robotnik growled, reaching over his nephew to activate the program he had designed.

"Because _sir_," Snively ground out, "As of late, the landing program in this vehicle has been malfunctioning… on a consistent basis. I tried to tell you, without object proximity detectors, we have to land manually in the city. The buildings-"

Robotnik roared, "YOU INCOMPETENT MORON! YOU DARE TO QUESTION MY PROGRAMMING?! IF YOU WEREN'T AT THE CONTROLS-"

He raised a clenched fist to his nephew, a mere inch from his face, but then, out of the corner of his eye he saw it – a tall dark mass emerging from the gloom, directly ahead of them. Dangerously _close_.

Snively gasped, wrenching the steering column left. Robotnik staggered back, jaw slackened. The intricacies of the grand building before them dissolved into view. Worn carvings of Mobian birds encased in marble, once whimsical, now appeared to be the stewards of death.

The hovercraft strained against the sudden change in direction, Snively grimacing as he fought the controls. The seconds slowed down. They came within meters of the building, Robotnik bracing for impact, Snively squinting his eyes shut. And then somehow at the last possible moment, its facade slipped away from view. The relief felt by the pair was short-lived, perhaps only a millisecond. They still made contact.

The belly of the craft screamed in sickening metallic protest as it ground along the side of the building. Everything within the cabin shuttered. Cluck screeched. Loose paperwork swirled in the open space. Robotnik lost grip of his weapon, sending it skidding across the metal flooring. He reached for something, anything to hold on to, but could only grasp air. The desperation felt during his green dream resurfaced as he toppled over.

As quickly as it had all began, the cabin was silent again. The craft leveled. Snively was panting.

"SNIVELY, GET US BELOW THE CLOUDS, NOW!"

"I am _trying_ sir!" Snively lowered his voice, _"I just saved our lives you ungrateful…"_

Robotnik regained his balance and came up fuming and red, one side of his mustache flattened against a cheek.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"I said, I am TRYING _SIR_!"

"YOU SAID MORE THAN THAT, SNIVELY!"

As if to silence them, the fog completely disappeared and the craft emerged safely into the remaining glow of day. Snively exhaled, hands still shaking as he prepared to complete the landing sequence. His limbs constricted ever-so-slightly, as if bracing himself for another crash.

Robotnik found some pleasure in that small show of intimidation. He found even more as he leaned in to growl in his nephew's ear.

"Never forget Snively, that _I_ am lord of this planet. You are to respect me, or I WILL be using you as target practice for my new weapon... _You have no right to even be in my presence. My brother, for all of his stupidity, was wise to leave you behind. It is by my generosity alone that you are allowed to serve me." _Hatred hung on every careful whisper, each pause - the remains of feelings much older than Snively.

_"Have I made myself clear_?"

Snively kept looking forward, almost trembling. He responded weakly.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Robotnik purred, "Check our landing systems, and get us on the ground, NOW! I want to capture this _Major Fiske_ before nightfall."

* * *

><p><strong>Jade<strong>

The medical ward was busier than usual, another night of graduation trials filling its hallways to capacity with unfortunate trainees. They milled about idly, cradling wounds, staring without focus. White coats danced around them – the doctors talking, prodding, bandaging – but the soldiers' faces stayed disconnected in a way that told the story of their losses. Jade knew many would submit themselves to another year of training, another year of studying and sweat in the hopes of gaining a title. Of _graduating_. Yet even more would drop out of the Academy and back into civilian life.

She wondered how many Fiske had already managed to coerce into his flock. Trainees dropped out or went missing every day. _Exploitation must be a lot easier with a desperate crowd. _And looking into their listless eyes, she almost couldn't blame the crazed ex-Major for trying to ferry them away. These men and women were made for service; had been shaped into something greater over the years. Killing machines, some of them, bread to kill dark machines.

To abandon all of that work because they had only slipped up at the very end…

_Wasted talents… Where would I be if I hadn't passed my first graduation trials?_

She shifted the bag on her back and started searching among them, asking anyone recognizable if they had seen Orin. Most she encountered seemed to be absorbed in their own grief, but a few gave her vague directions, filled with more questions than answers.

_"Probably in his room… I couldn't see his match, how'd he do?" _

A solemn head shake answered those questions. Defeat wasn't talked about and so her silence seemed to satisfy them.

One boy she approached was alert and bold enough to ask her how _she_, Orin's Lancing Initiation Master, was walking around – how she wasn't getting stitched up herself, because surely, "Roarin' Orin Ashwin" _had_ to have put a few cuts in her during their match.

She had no reply to that outburst except a stern officer's glare, although inside she hated herself all the more.

_First graduation, then his happiness, and now his reputation… Is his life the only thing I _haven't_ taken from him?_

It was a clipboarded nurse who finally helped her. He skimmed through a chart as he talked.

"Orin Ashwin? Oh yeah. I _remember _him. Left half an hour ago – even though the head physician _ordered_ him to stay… Kid kept bitching about it taking too long. Wasn't even stitched up when he walked out so he bled all over the fucking place…" The man's attention flicked to something behind Jade. "Hey, I said NO MORE admitees in this room, Williams!"

The man stormed away and Jade turned for the exit, her steps quickening. _No, no, no… he can't be… _A fraction of her conscience had devoted itself to believing Orin hadn't _actually_ considered the Swiftjustice offer; that he was above selling his dreams of field duty to the fastest bidder. He was supposed to be _here_. But that hope was all but shattered now.

She dodged through the white-and-green crowd again, pushing and yelling for admittance. By the time she cleared the hospital entryway, she was already sprinting for Orin's room, her physical pains dulled as a new surge of adrenaline kicked in.

Running was usually mind-clearing. This was mind-fearing.

The darkened corridor swallowed up her long strides, her breath only visible when she passed under a cable light. She quickened pace as the echoes of her booted footfalls faded into the mountain – as if they had never even existed, as if _she_ didn't exist.

The lack of sound became frightening, but the possibility of not finding Orin scared her more, and soon, she was running faster.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Most of these chapters are rewrites but I promise that new material is coming soon. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Julian<strong>

The intersection was two inches deep in ash, yet clear of large debris. Reverse boosters thundered to life as the hovercraft touched down, kicking up a grey cloud. The accompanying SWAT-bot transports landed nearby, and as ordered the humanoid robots filed out of each craft, swiftly forming a protective perimeter around the area.

Robotnik trudged down a grated ramp to stand in the street. Smog shaded what the surrounding buildings missed. After his near death experience, he couldn't help admiring the rapid decline of Mobotropolis into his now gloriously lifeless city, Robotropolis._ No more Mobians. _He closed his eyes to breathe in the acrid odor of pollutants, faintly wondering how he had ever dreamed that grass and trees could smell nearly as good as the scent of destruction. Of _solitude_.

Snively was warily following orders, holding a thin plastic box at arm's length, sweeping it from right to left. He pulled it back to his chest, squinting to assess the new read-out. Robotnik came to stand behind him, his cape and mustache both fluttering in the dusty breeze.

"Well, Snively?"

Disappointment hung on Snively's words, "Still negative for all life-form readings, sir."

The doctor flushed red but replied quickly, "Their bunker must be too far underground for our detection limits…No matter, _we will find them_." He turned to a commanding SWAT-bot. "I want every inch of this area searched within a 4 block radius. You are to stun and disarm all organic life-forms. No causalities, only prisoners. Is that understood?"

The SWAT-bot was programmed to serve without hesitation. "AFFIRMATIVE LORD ROBOTNIK." It executed an electronic order for a fraction of its troops and then joined them in the rubble of buildings, searching with wrist lights and readied stun rifles.

"And _you_!" Snively flinched as Robotnik turned back to him, "Ready the squadron of buzzbombers. We aren't dealing with the Freedom Fighting rodents; humans are quite a different breed of combatants."

"Yes sir, I'll send for them right away, sir."

The doctor began to climb back up the ramp. "For now, I will be inside. Alert me as soon as _anything_ is found."

Snively almost squeaked. "You want me to stay out here alone? Exposed to danger?!" He looked around, his gaze falling on the looming buildings and their growing shadows.

Robotnik paused, "_Cowardly little_… an entire squadron is out here! You WILL monitor the SWAT-bot search, _FROM OUTSIDE_, until the Major's base is found!" Before Snively could protest, the craft's door slid closed with a hollow boom.

Cluck fluttered to his shoulder as Robotnik entered the cabin, chirping a metallic melody of greeting. The Doctor's demeanor softened.

"Yes, I'm back." He whispered, "_Did you miss me?_"

The bird seemed to cry out with an affirmative answer. Robotnik grinned. The "affection" shown by his creation was almost too realistic at times. He often chose to forget that it was a programmed anomaly, one which could only create the illusion of affection – never any form of real, unsolicited love.

He continued to pet Cluck and sat down heavily in the pilot's chair. With a few keystrokes the control monitor illuminated again. Video feed from surveillance bots hovering in the area gave him a clear view of the search. He mused absentmindedly while watching the progress, his voice a low murmur.

"_Humans_… living in Robotropolis. I never imagined my species would dare to live so close... The dim-witted Mobian creatures, yes, but not _humans_. I allowed them safety in their own little city, and I thought they would be wise enough to obey my restrictions, but it seems they have forgotten…"

The video showed SWAT-bots tearing through scrap metal, turning over rubble.

"This city, is _mine _Cluck… and by the time all of our construction is complete, the entire _planet _will be mine as well. No more rebellious Mobians, or _people_ to worry about, just a vast army of robotic servants." He breathed the last part with longing._ "Then we can finally have peace."_

The intercom crackled, pulling him from his daydream.

"Dr. Robotnik, the buzzbomber squadron awaits your orders. Where should I have them stationed?"

"Directly above the search area and at the SWAT-bot perimeter. No gaps in security Snively! NOTHING gets out, or _you_ will be the one I blame."

"Yes, sir."

The craft's cabin fell silent again.

Light was quickly vanishing with the day's second sunset, threatening to postpone the search. It crept away quickly, brilliant and red, and soon the hovering buzzbombers supplied most of the search lighting. However, the beacons they cast could only cover small areas. Below them, the SWAT-bots continued to meticulously pick through the cityscape, some too meticulously for Robotnik's own liking. He was a patient man, but at moments of near triumph, he couldn't contain himself. Hoping for a breakthrough, he was almost panting in anticipation. His eyes flickered between each of the square video feeds on the monitor.

Minutes passed before he finally yelled at Snively through the intercom: The lackey promising nothing had been found yet, forcing the him to resume his own small-scale search with the video feed. He was about to go outside and _shoot_ at something, perhaps the slowest moving SWAT-bot in range, just to ease the growing tension… but then it happened.

In the upper left corner of the video monitor, he watched a lone SWAT-bot turn over a rusted piece of metal sheeting, revealing a crude, dug-out tunnel. It appeared to lead far underground, its entrance pitch black.

"Yes," the doctor exalted, "_I've got you now._"

Snively's voice filled the room again.

"Sir, we may have found the entrance to-"

Robotnik was grinning from the find, but still spat harshly at his nephew. "Of course this is the entrance you fool!"

He switched channels on the intercom before Snively could say more. The drone of a robotic voice spoke, requesting further orders from its master.

"Form ranks, then enter the bunker in full force! NO HUMAN CASUALTIES, or you will be scrap!"

"YES, YOUR EXCELLENCY."

The Doctor turned back to the previous channel. Snively was still speaking on the open airway.

"Sir, can you hear me, sir? Where do-"

"Shut up Snively! Tighten the buzzbomber formation over the bunker entrance, and ready my hoverpad, NOW! I'm coming out."

Outside, the city's darkness felt more complete, more oppressive – only a scarlet glow touched the horizon. SWAT-bots were converging upon the bunker from different directions. Their wrist lights cast a spider web of shadows as they passed through the ruins around them.

Upon its arrival, Robotnik stepped atop the hoverpad and took his place at the flight controls, nudging Snively aside. The circular platform strained under the added weight, but then rose as the doctor directed it over the search area.

He looked down on the group of gathering SWAT-bots while smoothing his mustache between two fingers.

"This position will be most advantageous… It is always more satisfying to watch the initial terror of a prisoner right after capture. Don't you agree Snively?" He spoke as if talking to an old friend.

Snively hesitated, surprised that he was being asked for his own opinion. But if there was ever a time to receive civility from his uncle, it was at a moment such as this.

"Yes, Dr. Robotnik! _Most_ satisfying indeed. Major Fiske and his men will be shaking in your presence, sir."

"Yes, yes, I believe they will be…" Robotnik trailed off in thought. His glowing red lenses followed the shadowy metallic creatures below.

_I have you now Major Fiske, and I will make an example of you and your "army" for the rest of this planet… humans, like Mobian vermin, are not welcome in Robotropolis._

When the procession ceased the SWAT-bots were aligned in perfect, silent rows. Without noise or warning an electronic pulse ran through each of them, simultaneously redirecting each bot to complete new orders. The massive group raised their weapons in unison, and began funneling into the underground bunker.

It took several minutes before the entire unit had descended underground. Only the distant sound of shuffling metal arms and legs drifted up the open passageway.

In his excitement, Robotnik leaned over the edge of the hoverpad, straining to hear any echoes of rifle fire, but aside from the humming of overhead buzzbombers, the air remained still. After several minutes of inaction the doctor depressed an intercom button on the control panel.

_"What is going on down there commanding unit 14?"_

Seconds passed with no response. Snively was peering down into the open tunnel as well, squinting in the darkness.

"_I REPEAT. What is happening down there commanding unit 14_!?" he persisted.

Intolerable silence.

"ANSWER ME YOU PIECE OF SCRAP! WHAT THE HELL IS-"

A terrific boom answered – near deafening, yet still increasing in intensity. And light, brilliant, spectacular white light radiated from the once black tunnel out into the darkness. It was so blinding Robotnik brought a hand up to shield his already-protected eyes, and then he was directing the hoverpad away – up, away, anywhere but near the tunnel.

Snively was somehow holding on as they rumbled through the sky. The city seemed to be drenched in daylight, and the air was hot, reverberating and pulsing with the explosive blast. Flames climbed up from the tunnel opening, dancing on the air, so _close_. Robotnik felt sweat on his face, almost instantaneous sweat, from the instantaneous heat. And he still had to pull the craft farther away – to safety, into the coolness of the night.

He landed as soon as the clear patch of ground beside their vehicle was in sight. Both he and Snively wobbled off the small hoverpad, almost falling onto the ground, coughing loudly.

Snively doubled over, wheezing.

"A trap… sir… we could… could have been down… there _too_. Lucky… only the… SWAT-bots…"

Robotnik was breathing even more heavily and could only manage to snarl in response. He leaned his back against the craft's metal hull and stared at the fire in the distance, the glow of its destruction illuminating the deep-set grimace on his face. Thick, dark smoke was rising from the tunnel as well, adding more toxic fumes to the night air.

When he regained his breath he pushed himself up and staggered into the hovercraft without a word. Snively hurried after him, at a distance, afraid of the silent rage building within his uncle.

The Doctor coughed heavily before sitting at the rear of the cabin. Snively crept as close as he dared.

"What are your orders, Dr. Robotnik?" he asked quietly.

The Doctor peered out into the night, watching the flames dance on. He didn't look away from the scene while clearing his throat. His speech was laden with a new kind of hatred.

"Leave a unit of buzzbombers in the immediate area... and send the rest to base. Any remaining SWAT-bots are to return as well... _Then get us out of here Snively."_

"Of course sir, I will right away, sir."

Snively retreated to take his place at the controls and began inputting the new commands for the robotic army, the steady tapping of keys filling the uncomfortable silence of the room.

He was scanning the code for any errors when a new, unexpected window opened on the computer screen.

"What is this…" he whispered with annoyance.

A rectangular icon blinked at the center of the window.

_A MESSAGE FROM SWIFTJUSTICE_

He suppressed a gasp, and scrutinized the text for a minute, running through the consequences of opening an electronic message from the enemy. He had somehow avoided the wrath of his uncle tonight, but if he were to cause the systems on the craft to fail by downloading a virus…

He reluctantly called upon the Doctor.

"Sir, I am sorry to disturb you, but we have just received a message."

"From whom?" Robotnik barked.

Snively paused to carefully phrase his answer.

"The icon says it's from Swiftjustice... I believe that is the name of the army the human prisoner identified himself with, sir?"

Robotnik rose and nearly threw Snively aside as he took his place before the monitor. He glared at the screen for a moment and then started typing furiously, attempting to track the source of the message.

_You may be a skilled military tactician Major, but computers are my specialty… All I need is an electronic signature and I will have your new location._

But after several minutes of thorough investigation he could only determine that the file appeared uncorrupt and free of viruses. Its origins were remarkably, untraceable.

After a day of colossal failure and no captured prisoners, his inability to trace a simple file brought him to the pinnacle of frustration.

With a quick movement, he slammed his robotic fist against the chair's armrest. It crumpled weakly underneath the blow. His powerful hand came down again, this time to grasp the object, and ripped it away from the seat's frame with one forceful tug. Snively ducked down as his uncle threw the projectile across the cabin. It crashed violently into the wall, leaving a resonating echo after it came to rest on the floor.

He barred his teeth and turned back to the keyboard, tension only somewhat relieved. He starred at the blinking text which was still taunting him. _"Click me, just click me",_ it seemed to whisper. All thoughts of technological reasoning vanished, as burning, enraged curiosity took over.

"_FINE!"_ he roared internally, while clicking the icon.

The message opened without disrupting the crafts onboard systems. It read:

_Dr. Julian Robotnik,_

_If you have received this message you should be a very grateful man – you are still alive, if only for the moment._

_I am writing mostly to commend your methods of information extraction. My soldiers are trained to endure extreme physical pain before they are allowed to serve in my Squadron. They are further encouraged to, given the opportunity, perform self-termination if in danger of being captured by the enemy. This is a preventative measure which was put in place to avoid situations like this. _

_It was disappointing to learn that one of my men failed in his duty to secrecy, but I'm interested to know how you did it. Did he succumb to torture, or were you able to extract information from his robotocized body? _

_Whatever your methods, congratulations on locating our previous base Doctor, although if I were a betting man, I'd have to say you found its contents far less than pleasing?_

_I truly regret not being able to make your acquaintance thus far, but of course the primary objective of my Squadron is to bring about your timely death, so I believe I will have the pleasure of meeting you in person, very, very soon. _

_Until then._

_Sincerely, _

_Major William Fiske_

_SWIFTJUSTICE Squadron_

Robotnik's fists were clenched, shaking slightly. He rose from the chair, crimson eyes locking with those of his nephew.

"_Snively, I want…_" he ground out the words, "…I want _all_ of their objectives set to _kill._"

Snively's eyes widened. The Doctor had installed termination protocols in each and every one of his robotic creations but rarely, sometimes never, chose to _actually_ engage that programming.

With slight confusion he inquired, "Um, sir, I'm sorry, but when you say _all_, do you mean all of the grounds units or-"

Robotnik took hold of Snively's jacket front, lifting the small man off the ground to be level with his face.

"_All_ means EVERYTHING, you blithering idiot. If Major Fiske wants to declare war on _me_, then he can meet _ALL_ of my robotic infantry in battle!" Snively continued to squirm as Robotnik held him suspended above the floor.

The enraged Doctor seemed to collect himself momentarily – his gaze slanting away as he sought out reasoning for such a murderous plan.

'Yes... _I never harmed them, robotocized some, but never killed them… I didn't initiate this. I've been fair… If a fight is what this Major wants, their blood will be on his hands, not mine.'_

He breathed evenly while dropping Snively back to his feet. The matter was finalized within his mind… It would be unreasonable to question a logical decision once it had been made.

"Set them to kill any armed humans found within Robotropolis."

Snively rubbed his throat soothingly, an edge of disdain on his lips.

"Yes… sir."


	7. Chapter 7

**Jade**

She realized she must look crazy – hair falling loose, breath raged, both fists pounding on Orin's door. An officer could be reprimanded for putting up such a show. Jade, however, could care less.

"Private Ashwin, open up_ now_!"

She paused in her assault, pressing an ear to the wooden barrier as if listening for a heartbeat. A breath, a shuffle, _any _sound would do – some auditory evidence that Orin was simply, if not painfully, ignoring her; that the lack of an answer wasn't instead the product of him being somewhere _else_ entirely.

_If he's not here…_

The thought made her attack the door with more force, only to have it collapse inward. She stumbled into the new gap, arms still mid-pound, and locked eyes with Shelby Winters.

The girl's blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, almond eyes lidded in a way that suggested boredom. She hadn't changed shirts, Jade noticed with a pang of regret. Orin's blood still zigzagged across her chest.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant Ashwin?" Shelby asked, gaze flicking over Jade's own disheveled appearance: an assessment which withheld the seduction the girl usually exuded, yet was still thorough enough to make Jade feel as if she was _something_ to examine rather than someone to converse with.

"No, _you _can't Private, but my brother can."

She moved to slip inside but Shelby narrowed the door's gap and extended an arm, effectively blocking her.

Jade reasoned that it was the heady combination of urgency, frustration, and a soldier's hardwired objectivity that made her focus on that pale extension of arm… that made her think about how, with the right application of force, she could easily_ snap_ it.

She pushed away the violent, wayward thought… _no arm breaking._

"Move, Private." she warned.

"I'm sorry," Shelby said with no hint of an apology, "but Orin's asked me to make sure no one bothers him. He's trying to sleep."

Jade glanced past Shelby's face and into the dorm. The couch was empty, the lights dimmed. He _could_ be sleeping in one of the adjoining rooms, by all quiet appearances, but that situation didn't fit with his early departure from the medical ward.

_Orin wouldn't deny himself a stitch job just to go home and sleep... _

She wasn't sure why Shelby was putting up the barricade – whether in hatred of her, or to keep her from Orin, or for some other screwed up reason – but the girl _needed_ to move. And she could lie too if it meant reaching that end without violence.

"Winters, as touching as your devotion to my brother's rest is, he's been ordered to council chambers and I'm the one escorting him there, _so move it_."

Shelby's dark gaze slid to a group of passing males. She followed their progress as they walked behind Jade and into another corridor, voices trailing. Only when privacy circled them again, did she speak.

"I don't remember the council convening so late, Lieutenant." The reply was questioning, lined with defiance.

Jade felt her patience snap, almost bone-like. So the girl _wanted_ to waste her time. _Orin's_ time. The only time that might ever matter again.

She seethed, laying a hand on the door, "No, Private, what you don't seem to _remember_ is the fact that you are quite literally standing between me and the soldier I've been assigned to find. Now are you going to move, or should I go ahead and move you _myself_?"

Shelby's inhaled, tilting her chin up. It wasn't amplified like the scream Jade remembered during the match – that hateful, mourning scream – but the movement held more animosity, a restraint which almost looked painful. _So many things this girl wants to spit at me._ _Would she say them, I wonder, if I didn't outrank her? _

Jade would have preferred that situation: the realness of harsh words instead of this controlled silence… skirting around obvious grievances to uphold an officer's respect. It was so stupidly ceremonial… so _fake_.

She stepped closer, putting some pressure on the door, wanting entrance yet in some ways hoping the girl would fight back... They could bitch it out like real women that way.

But Shelby didn't resist, and the door's meager gap widened until the girl had let go of it completely, flattening herself against the door frame. She seemed to regain some control by not glaring at Jade, though her words were still barbed.

"If you_ insist_ on dragging Orin down there tonight _Lieutenant_, then I'm going to find someone to help him."

"That won't be necessary." Jade said sharply, stepping in. The room smelled faintly chemical. _Like an antiseptic._

Shelby laughed behind her, harsh and short, making Jade turn. The officer trainee barrier had fallen, it seemed, and she realized then that she was now facing an unrestricted Shelby Winters – the girl she sometimes evaluated during training exercises – all fiery and focused.

"Don't you realize that Orin can hardly _walk_ because of what you did to him? That there's a six-inch cut in his leg? He'll need someone stronger than _you_ to support him." Shelby snarled, managing grace even in anger. She slipped out and into the corridor's darkness.

A response died on Jade's lips.

She had already accepted that she wasn't the person Orin turned to anymore, but the double-edged meaning – no, the calculated implication – that _Shelby_ was now that person, laid some jealousy on her heart. _  
><em>

The rest was just sobering. Complete truth. She _had_ hurt him. And she _should _be hated for it.

She wanted to yell that down the corridor; disregard her rank and yell, _"Yes, I'm the one who killed Orin's chances of graduating! And you can hate me for it!"_ but the girl had already faded away. She hoped she wasn't actually bringing someone back.

The silence became too loud.

Orin must have heard her yelling already, she accepted. No use for being discrete. She let the door bang shut behind her, and took in the hollow surroundings.

The boyish sweat of roommates lingered, though the warmth that accompanied their youthful bulk was missing. Clothing and water packs were scattered.

There was the breath of another tragically still-running computer, but beyond that, she could hear nothing.

The second door on her right, Orin's room, was ajar; the slit black. She stood before it, squeezing her backpack's straps again.

_What am I going to say? _A roll of gauze lay unraveled at her feet, overwhelming her with doubt. _What if he really did come back here to sleep, and stitched himself up? Maybe he's not sneaking away to Fiske after all… _That would be a whole different problem… because how would she then backtrack to explain everything she knew about Swiftjustice without _also_ admitting to hacking into his computer?

_Start small and let him talk. _She made herself push in.

The door yawned open, drawing light over a dresser, a bed, and a shelving unit.

An _empty_ bed: a tousled mess of blankets, as it always was, even though a soldier's bed shouldn't be. That memorable disarray made Orin's absence all the more heart-stopping. So close… his presence, his things were all so _close_.

Where else would he be if not _here_? _Don't think it… not yet._

She frantically checked the other three rooms, finding only one occupied. The boy's name escaped her, but it didn't stop her from shaking him out of sleep.

"Orin! _Where's_ Orin?" she demanded.

"Wha… I don't… Lieutenant?"

"Yes, an officer's in your room. Now where is _Orin_?"

"Uhhh…" the boy sat up, dragging a hand over his face. "I don't know… Haven't seen him since his match. I've got exams tomorrow… went to bed early..."

She blew out a breath, standing up, stalking out. What other places should she try? _Shelby... The girl had lied._ But was there even _enough_ time? No. No. No._ Face it._ She should just assume the worst and focus on stopping him. _Accept it and move forward Jade. _She needed to head out or–

"That Shelby girl was here though…" the boy called, yawning.

Jade was back beside his bed in an instant. "Why? What did she want?"

"She uh… well, she _wanted_ me to get out of the dorm."

"Why?"

He scratched his bare chest and grunted. "Cuz she's a bitch."

"Soldier…" Jade pressed.

"I don't know... She said something about getting files for Orin. That she needed it _quiet_ while she worked."

"On his computer? She wanted files on his computer?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I came in here so she'd shut up."

She sprinted for the computer station and hunched over Orin's desk. Wiggled a mouse. The monitor glowed. Not simply forgotten, or disregarded in a trainee's post-work laziness, it was purposefully on – a program still running, even as the screen had slept darkly.

It took her a moment to adjust; to sit and stare and take in the dilemma before her, and then she was rapidly entering commands. It took another long moment to completely halt the programmed deletion of internet activity from the computer…

To stop Shelby Winters from erasing all contact Orin had previously made with Swiftjustice Squadron.

* * *

><p><strong>Julian<strong>

"Leave me…"

"Yes, sir." Snively said, backing away slowly.

A hiss, a hallow boom, and then the electronic doorway shut, leaving Dr. Robotnik alone. Silence fell over the darkened laboratory, save for the warm hum of auxiliary power pulsing through the walls and subflooring.

Robotnik stood motionless, waiting for some form of clarity to envelop him, some explanation, some reasoning as to _how_ a group of humans had managed to hide within his city completely and impossibly... _undetected_.

A former military tactician, the Doctor had always realized that Robotropolis could never be impenetrable – it was too vast, with too many points of entry. He had therefore staked the majority of his confidences on the strength of a superb defensive system. After his rise to power over King Maximillian, one of his first security projects was the installation of a city-wide surveillance blanket. Thousands upon thousands of security cameras had been strategically hidden within the cityscape, and for mobile surveillance, stealth-bots and spy-probes had also been put into mass production.

In the end, he was able to monitor every inch of land; every corner; every shadow. He need only input a few commands and nothing was beyond his sight.

The high-resolution pictures left him feeling secure. Sleep had come easily. But after the day's earlier events, his confidence had been rocked to the point of uncertainty. Even the miserable little hedgehog, with his blistering speed and advantageous power rings, had always been detectable at _some_ point after scurrying into Robotropolis.

This new enemy was different… the military faction had managed to become invisible; their movements undocumented; their numbers unknown; their sole objective simple, in the most frightening of ways. Major Fiske's message replayed in his mind:

"…_but of course the primary objective of Swiftjustice is to bring about your timely death, so I believe I will have the pleasure of meeting you in person, very, very soon."_

Robotnik clenched and unclenched his fists, an unconscious habit which had persisted even after his left arm was roboticized. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would feel like to watch Major Fiske squirm under a robotic chokehold… but the picture was blurry. He could only conjure the familiar image of _Snively_ gasping for breath; the Major's face remained a mystery.

However, if his assumption proved correct, uncovering the Major's past, and appearance, would be quite easy. The human populous on Mobius remained largely scattered and scarce, but the largest concentration had decided to build an outpost in the southern mountains, raising the farce of an Earthian society behind scrap-metal walls and the defense of an underground military Academy. He had seen their city through a lens, and he found it laughable.

_This planet will never be the Earth they dream of, even with their ridiculous institutions and attempts at civilized order… Mobius will be much more after I remake it._

He had withheld from attacking his own species, despite how easily he could wipe them from the face of their mountain pass. It was a justifiable restraint. In comparison, the native Mobian populace was an enemy actually worth worrying about. They pressed in on him daily, coordinated against him daily, continued to multiply _daily_… It was a simple decision to devote his time and resources on _them_ rather than on the defeat of the pathetic little human city.

But… if the Major _was_ an agent working for their group... if his meddling was connected to the humans…

_Perhaps a detachment of buzzbombers should be sent south to remind them of their place within _my_ world._

Cluck ruffled his metallic wings. Chirping softly, he roused Robotnik from thought.

"Not now, Cluck." The man shushed, scooping up the bird and dropping him onto a nearby control panel. Cluck cawed and clicked his feet on the steel.

Robotnik ignored his pet, stalking to the room's control monitor. It was a massive crystal display; cubed into over twenty individual blocks, each relaying different surveillance feeds. He typed, manipulating the video in each block to meet his preferences. Most of the camera angles he chose overlooked the city's perimeter or its weakest points of entry. When viewed from a distance, the screens created a monotone composite of grays and blacks, but one monitor, the monitor at the panel's center, was a vibrant shade of green.

He never allowed himself to consciously admit _why_ he decided to look at the Great Forest. It was more comfortable to pretend that his interest was purely tactical; that the barren expanse of field between Robotropolis and the Great Forest was an area which needed constant monitoring in case of a full-scale, Freedom Fighter invasion. But if the Doctor chose to be completely honest with himself, he looked at the nauseating stretch of greenness as a reminder of his failures – the most annoying of those being his inability to eliminate the Freedom Fighter resistance, to find their base, to rule the planet entirely… and now, his inability to successfully monitor Robotropolis against any _human_ invaders.

It was maddening, yet empowering somehow, as it had been his entire life, to be visually reminded of all his short-comings. It was a torture which drove him to a higher level of fury, and then ultimately, a higher level of motivation. Even his new-found hatred for Major Fiske couldn't touch the anger the green expanse conjured... in both his present reality, and now, in sleep as well.

The day's earlier green dream swelled up again, as crisp and clear as the fields he had almost laid in, been so close to touching.

_"No you, no! You cannot have me!"_

On screen, the tree line shifted under the weight of wind and morning shadows, and the resemblance became too much like the trees from his subconscious. He snarled, forcing both images away.

The monitor was too close; he was too close. Cluck seemed to sense the impending danger and clanked farther away from his master. The Doctor stepped backward and let the day's frustrations course through his body unsuppressed until the anger made his hands shake. He exhaled deeply… slowly… and finally came out of his meditative madness.

His crimson eyes refocused to find the nearest piece of equipment which was scrapable. A defective range-bot would suffice – a lifeless victim to be executed. He tried to visualize the no-faced Major as he decapitated the camouflaged unit with a swipe of his robotic arm. Circuitry spilled from the bot's neck like a mass of entrails. Another blow shattered its ovular sense ports, throwing splinters of glass across the paneled floor. Cluck screeched and flew to a ceiling joist as parts became projectiles.

With one last terrific growl, the Doctor crumpled what remained of the robot's head into the floor. His breath came heavy on cold air. The cavernous room quieted, the echoes of destruction fading away into the high ceilings.

It took several minutes before Robotnik stepped out of the mangled debris, but when he did, his mind felt clearer, his focus returned. He scanned the room and found Cluck roosting near the ceiling.

"You may come down now, Cluck," he called, forcing the menace from his voice.

The bird examined his master with one lifeless eye before obeying, dropping like a stone and flaring his wings wide. He landed with a weighted clunk.

Robotnik sighed, petting the bird. His anger had finally dissipated, replaced with resignation. "There is so much for us to attend to. But, where to begin?"

The video feed in one of the control monitors flickered, the planet's first sunrise spearing light through a low break in the smog cover. SWAT-bots had marched into the picture, an entire squadron clanking down street in formation. Some of the newer units reflected the coming glare of day; others were scratched and dented, only reflecting the gloom of their purpose.

Their movements were programmed with perfection in mind, the embodiment of lifeless terror. A robot was unfeeling, unresponsive to pleas – the ideal machines for capturing Mobians, and now, for destroying any humans who decided to hide within Robotropolis.

"Maybe, Cluck," A grin grew as Robotnik watched his creations march. "We should first order the _accelerated_ production of SWAT-bot units… and perhaps, more buzzbomber units as well?"

The bird seemed to caw in affirmation as it nuzzled into the palm of its master.

The Doctor depressed an intercom switch. "Snively!" he barked.

"Yes, sir?" came the wary reply.

"Double the SWAT-bot and buzzbomber production quotas in hangers 4A and 6C. And program the new units to enter the field _immediately_."

There was a second of deadness on the intercom before Snively replied. "Are the new units to be under termination protocol as well, sir?"

Robotnik growled. His nephew could be too tedious at times, but the question was valid. And with his renewed clarity, he had to concede that it was… unnecessary… to activate termination protocol in absolutely _all_ of his robotic units. Putting them into a mode of heightened threat detection was severely affecting their energy efficiency. Some were already reporting for recharge, a flaw which needed to be addressed later…

His voice was sharp, "The new units can be set to stun and capture, but Snively, do _NOT_ adjust the programming of any units already on patrol. Do you _understand_ me?"

"Yes, of course sir… I'll see to it immediately."

Robotnik assessed the video feed of his robotic minions again. More SWAT-bots marched across a different screen, all following their new orders – searching out the city ruins for any humans, laser pistols in hand, objectives set to kill. He was content to monitor their slow trickle for a time. It was almost more soothing than destroying the range-bot. _Almost._

A triumphant thought came to him unbidden. He grinned.

_Try to hide within Robotropolis now, Major Fiske. Just try to hide from one hundred thousand of my best units… just try._


	8. Chapter 8

**Jade**

The stars were inked out. It was a darkness less imposing than the Academy's tunnels, yet wider, seeming to stretch infinitely northward across plains and plateaus. Hours would pass before the first sunrise could blaze away the night.

To Jade the expanse felt heavy under the sagging cloud cover. Almost as if rain was coming. But the mountain pass was too high, she reasoned and feared. Too high and too cold. Snow would fall first.

She tucked her chin to her chest again as a gust flew up the hill face. _Find him. Find him. _The chant battled against the wind in her ears. Her only purpose, the reason she was descending into the valley below – virtually blind, except for the meager glow she allowed herself from a handheld data pad. Anything brighter might attract attention… and there was more to fear than just the Swiftjustice men she was jogging toward.

One howl, a single forlorn call, had made her pull the laser pistol from her pack. It jiggled on her hip now, a weighty reassurance as she bounded down loose gravel.

She had held onto the desperate, albeit irrational, hope that Chelsea's council-begging mission had succeeded – that her handgun's limited firepower would be overshadowed by a more heavily armed unit of soldiers, following her down the mountainside to capture Fiske and his men. It was disappointing then, though still largely expected, to find only a normal number of soldiers stationed at the eastern city gate, patrolling the walls slowly as if nothing had changed, quiet and unaware of her plight. _No military assistance for me tonight, _she had thought while sneaking past them and out into night.

Now, almost half an hour into her journey, she allowed herself to stumble to a stop.

A tree stand stretched out in front of her, tall and imposing. She slumped against the nearest trunk and caught her breath, gazing back up the mountainside at the shelter she had left behind. The city walls were far above now, their watchtower beacons just yellow pinpricks against a black matte of mountainside. Barely visible.

_I must be getting close. _

A check of the data pad's mapping program confirmed her thought, plotting her position at only a quarter kilometer away from the area she believed to be the Swiftjustice rendezvous point. The two dimensional map could not, however, account for the steep change in elevation – a hindrance which had made the journey feel much farther than a straight-shot two kilometers. It had been dangerous, slow going.

She wondered more than once if Major Fiske had taken the Academy's topography into consideration when he asked Orin to escape its walls and traverse down the mountainside in the dead of night. Was the journey itself the psycho's idea of an appropriate pre-initiation test?

It felt like it. Felt military in its impossibility. Even in full health she would have struggled. As it was, her nerves and quads had been shaking before she even began.

_Make it down the mountain, or break something on the way down. Those are your options, recruits. Thanks for considering Swiftjustice! Sincerely, Major Really-doesn't-give-a-fuck-if-you-die._

The reality lying beneath the absurdity of the thought made her barely regret slicing Orin's leg open anymore. She still sensed the behavioral wrongness of the act – the regret that would cling despite the passage of time – but she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the unintended benefits of doing it. Of saving him from a threat she had not anticipated before.

Against the mountain the cut would become a crippling disability – one which might allow her to catch him mid-decent, or better yet, force him to stop entirely. Fresh stitches tore out easily. _Maybe he's already laid up somewhere_, was the thought that had fueled her; had kept her looking as she skidded down slopes, raising the data pad like a spotlight, searching for signs of human passage.

Yet, even if she found him she realized there would still be trouble in trying to persuade him home. Especially when he was so close to the freedom Fiske offered. When he refused her help it would _not_ be quiet.

_If he wants to fight out here in the dark, just stun him. He's mad at you anyway and this is all past discussing now. _

It was more easily considered than done though, and ultimately, she dreaded the task of managing the temper of her wounded, determined brother while in dangerous territory – mostly because she would be doubly tasked with suppressing her _own_ anger as well.

The more time she had to reconsider Orin's actions, the more she doubted her ability to stay quiet anymore; to pacify him calmly. His deceptions were unbelievable in magnitude, mirrored by an impossible, suicidal ambition which seemed to numb him from all coherent thought._ Kill Robotnik. _She felt helpless to think of it – the blinding force of his resolve in the matter. Eventually, it had rendered him impervious to all concern, making every attempt she made at a discussion fall on deaf ears, as if she hadn't said anything at all. Even as his cool eyes watched her plead… watched her offer to help him.

He dismissed her as a desk job officer then. A strange and useless soldier amidst the importance of war and his _goal_; a computer programmer who couldn't comprehend the importance of ending it all by ending the one man who had started it… but she understood hatred.

More importantly, she understood the need to bottle it up.

Whether Orin's words toward her were sincerity of simply avoidance back then, she couldn't tell. She tried not to care. But despite her rank and accolades and well-being, she had still _felt_ like a lesser soldier. Unworthy for reasons which extended beyond any superficial feelings of occupational insecurity, but stemmed instead from her failure to say or do _anything_ which might regain the brother she missed so dearly.

She realized now, in the midst of madness, that by trying to fill the parentless void in Orin's life with gentleness, she had committed her greatest crime against him. The soldier who lost his father without explanation hadn't needed a too-caring, unrelenting sister. What he had _needed_ was an officer to force him to get over it. A Lieutenant to order him into a new purpose. A harder woman than she had been.

_When we make it back, that will change…_

She had rested too long against the tree, even though time had lapsed little. She knew she probably _shouldn't_ have stopped at all. Suppressing a groan, she pushed herself up and straightened. The backpack felt heavier, her arms weighted, and there was no shaking the burn from her legs.

She turned to the forest, sweeping the data pad over the trailing line of conifers. They shuddered against the building winds, twisting eerily in hazy blue light. Her bubble of illumination extended only a few trees into the stand. Beyond was space much denser. Darker. It fed her unease. Anything could be in there. Waiting.

The hour flashed 26:14 on the pad's screen: less than an hour remaining until Fiske's men departed. Scaling around the forest could take too long, she worried. And such a move would also leave her without cover. Forward was the only way.

She crept into the trees slowly, straining to listen, eyes widened. Her hand cupped the pistol. It was hard to hear anything except the forest. Wind wheezed through the treetops, making branches creak and pop.

_At least no one will hear me coming._ She swept the light across her surroundings once more before pocketing the data pad._ Or see me. _

She remembered an instructor telling her once that sight was nothing more than an illusion; that it failed her every time she blinked.

The visual world could never be concrete, she agreed with the concept. It was an integral part of her life – working in a cyber world she couldn't connect to physically. It was all digital. A network. The sights on screen were like thoughts. Indefinite and uncatchable and fragile. Easily lost, and only visually present when she powered up her work station.

Sight was limited.

_Touch_, however… touch was a superior sensory experience in most respects. It was a definite connection: a bridge between human and environment; controllable and applicable in real world combat; a sense which soldiers could weaponize.

Or turn to when vision failed.

Instinct told her to switch the data pad back on but she accepted the night, closing her eyes to it. It felt like a lonely rebirth – reaching out into space, shedding the easiness of sight, reverting to older training… feeling her way through damp tunnels as a child.

Needled limbs greeted her. She groped between the shaggy tree trunks, hands growing slick with sap. The slope steepened and shallowed and steepened again. Each step became a new guess. A near-blind chance. She held onto branches for balance, all the while fighting off the imaginings of falling into a crevice; cracking her head open; breaking a leg against jagged rock.

It was awhile before the ground evened substantially. Trees disappeared like fallen soldiers, wind gusting freely in their absence. The feeling of vast desolation, almost vacuum like in its nonexistence, spread out before her. She feared she was nearing the edge of a cliff.

Once again she wished Chelsea was beside her – the reassuring presence, a hand to hold hers in the dark, a person to tease away her misgivings_. _But there was just biting wind at her back, thickening the sap on her fingers. The cold touch of reality.

_Swiftjustice might seduce Orin, but they won't touch Chelsea. _The thought had sharpened her motivation only an hour ago – given her some pissed-off confidence which had made her risky behaviors feel all the more justifiable. As if she could protect all of her loved ones alone.

Now all she could focus on was darkness, and the likeness it shared with her situation. If she couldn't find Orin… what would there be to go home to, except Chels?

The potential of a looming cliff scared her back into focus. She crouched low, centering her weight, and side-stepped forward with a hand close to the ground. Dry needles bristled against her palm. Reaching out, she patted the earth while moving. After several steps all she could find was, blessedly, a flat continuation of earth.

Her foot dislodged a loose rock, making it tumble forward. It bounced for several seconds before falling silent. _Did it come to rest? Or fall away? _With the howling wind, she couldn't tell.

Her hand shook as she started to move again. Despite the dangers of being spotted, she wanted the data pad now. _Needed_ it. Heights, even unseen ones, scared her.

Her hand suddenly bumped into a solid trunk. It was softer… warmer. Unyielding. Immediately _un_tree-like.

She yanked her arm away, scrambling backward. A puff of panicked air escaped her lips. Actions, not thoughts, and the pistol was unholstered. In her palm. Heavy. Ready to fire and stun the foreign thing … but then, the gun was _gone_.

_Gone_. She couldn't believe it; was reaching to catch it as it fell, because it must have slipped. She _must_ have dropped it. _But I never drop weapons, _logic warned.

"You care too much, human… for this." The voice in front of her was heated, feral, not human itself.

A weighted slide followed – the removal of a power cartridge from the gun casing. Her head snapped left to track the distant, hollow clack of plastic against rock. Her weapon, being _thrown away_.

"What are you without gun?" The feral thing growled with cruel amusement. "Just weak human."

It was true – she felt it in the dark, felt weakened – but training made her fight truth. Fight back.

_Not weak. I'm exhausted, blind… unarmed..._

_The rock!_

Her fingers scrambled over pebbles. A carpet of needles. Twigs. Plush mounds of moss. She couldn't find one though, or another weapon. The wind rose.

"So helpless in the night..." A spray of gravel and earth hit her face, cutting. "Rocks won't help you, human!"

The feral thing laughed as it moved closer, hotter within her proximity, bathing her in a miasma of rot and musk. She wiped the dirt from her face, wanting to stand fully – to run away – but knew it would still be faster… that there was also the possibility of a cliff. She tried to hold on to a directional plane.

_I can't see, but it can._ _Don't run._

She took two more steps back and then balanced herself, balling her fists. Protecting her face. She knew she couldn't last long this way. Her backpack could be a temporary shield…

"You want to fight, little human?"

"Give me some light and I'll fight you." She said low, remembering the data pad then, reaching a hand into her back pocket.

"Only human asks for help while pulling out another weapon!" It rumbled, moving quickly.

She gestured to her still-pocketed hand, stepping farther away from its growl. "It's just a light. Let me see as you see, _wolf_. "

"You humans left your shelter! You get no _fairness _here." It kicked up stones again, snarling. "And you know nothing of _us_!"

_Humans… he's seen more?_

She shuffled back, keeping her hand on the pad. "I know your pack must be very desperate for supplies, to attack soldiers."

"Put down your weapon, or this time I'll take your _hand _with it!" The threat echoed up the hillside.

Rocks crumbled as she tried to distance herself. _Need space. Need time. Delay._

"There are more of us coming and they won't fight as fairly as me." she bit back, nearly tripping.

The growl swept closer. Too close.

"You lie human… your scent is one of the last to be found." It inhaled, breathing her in. "And we have found many, but only one in your pack smells as you smell... A mate? …or your kin, I wonder?"

Her focus waned, mind faltering, emotions the wolf could surely see, hidden in the darkness but howling in her soul… Her _despair_. Could wolves smell despair?

_They have Orin._

Fur and heat stood tall before her. The disgusting smell of decay – its last meal she absently guessed – misting over her face. Fear still overpowered nausea.

The wolf sounded amused again, victorious. "Too many _weak_ emotions, you show human… He may live, your kin, but only if you drop your weapon_, now_."

Her fingers flexed. The data pad was blunt; hard under her fingers. It _could_ be a weapon… with precision and speed. But surrendering it would strip her of that chance.

_Not so soon_, she decided.

She thumbed a button on the pad, illuminating its screen. Two more steps back, quicker than before, and she pulled it from her pocket. It lit up the ground before she pushed it into the Mobian's snarling face – overloading its nocturnal vision with artificial light.

She swung the pad then, connecting twice. Something cracked, bones or the data pad's plastic cover, she wasn't sure. There was roaring, cursing, growling – some of it her own. Matted fur seemed to surround her. Claws were tearing at her jacket, ripping the heavy fabric.

Something flashed – a bright point in the night – and the wolf's death grip loosened, paws falling limp against her body, slipping away.

The world became a blur of blue. She was running. Hoping there wasn't a cliff. Free somehow, though she couldn't consider why. The data pad was still in hand and working – her beacon in the night. Noises were behind, pushing her to move faster.

The human body amazed her – its resilience; its propensity to survive, even at the edge of exhaustion. Her body gave her _more _strength. More adrenaline. Enough to run far down the slope and into a new stand of trees.

She tried to quiet her breath and slow the wild beat of her heart. She_ needed_ to listen. The wolf might still come. Something else might come... And she was horribly unprotected.

She cracked a dead limb from a tree, shortening it into a club.

Darkness became familiar again as minutes passed with only the wind as her companion. Her thoughts were scattered and conflicting. _I can't stay here, but Orin could be close by... with the wolves. _As much as she loathed the thought of moving again – making noise and spreading her scent – it made the most sense to sneak back uphill, towards the city walls.

_If the wolves really captured soldiers, you can't negotiate alone. You'll need some–_

"Soldier!" A voice hissed from up the slope, nearing as it called. _"_Come out!"

Jade rose quickly, ready to run again, but the familiarity of the voice made her stop. Her body went rigid. She peeked around a tree because it couldn't be true.

Flickering in and out of existence behind black rows of trees, a halogen lantern bobbed down the gravel wash-out – its carrier obscured. Jade had to squint, but the feet beside it appeared booted and small as they swished in and out of the light.

"You're safe from the dogs now, recruit, but if you don't come out we'll be leaving without you!" Chelsea called into the night. The lantern hovered, ghost-like.

Jade was unsure her voice could work. Exhaustion and panic had consumed her being moments ago, but the lantern was truly there, swaying. Her mind blurred through the explanations; the excitement; the _thankfulness_.

_Chelsea's here to help! To find Orin!_

She started weaving through the depths of the tree stand, stumbling, making herself jog towards hope.

_She'll help me. Chelsea's here. We'll find Orin._

Light suddenly cascaded down the slope, behind Chelsea's walking form – a thick column of day bursting out into the pit of night, dwarfing the lantern's glow. It was blinding to Jade's widened pupils, making circles dance across her vision, but it was a welcome discomfort just the same. Chelsea had succeeded in council chambers after all, bringing soldiers with her… more people to _help_.

The vehicle came to silent halt as in neared Chelsea, hovering and humming. The girl turned, waving to it, her silhouette heavily armed in the glare: double pistols on both hips and a laser rifle dangling over a shoulder.

Jade neared the tree line – close to bursting out of concealment and into safety at last.

Chelsea yelled a greeting to a soldier who jumped from the vehicle, a single flashlight beam spearing through the night to join her lone lantern. The lights mingled and crossed.

Jade moved past the forest edge and began climbing, boots sinking into dirt. She quickly lost view of Chelsea uphill, and then the soldier, as the pair slipped behind a rise in the hill. The ridge line was sharp and glowing.

Words traveled down the mountainside, becoming clearer as Jade moved. She felt close enough to yell her own greeting now… but her voice faltered as she heard. As she finally _listened_.

Her feet stopped too.

"…think it was Jamison, but I can't be sure. I smoked the wolf on him, but another might've got him down there." Chelsea said, gesturing downhill.

A flashlight beam – the soldier's Jade guessed – slid to where Chelsea directed. To the place Jade had been only moments before. The beam crept across the trees, absorbed completely in the darker voids.

The soldier's voice was sharp and carefully slow: a man Jade didn't recognize.

"Jamison's not much of a soldier to lose. He wasn't high on Major's list. Shit-for-a-shot with manual artillery, I'm told… And besides, every transport ends up being a few bodies short."

Chelsea mumbled something, then asked, "Who'd you get back from the dogs?"

The soldier pulled the flashlight away from its forest search and Jade exhaled.

"Conners… Heilman, Ashwin and Rickter … Ashwin's leg is a fucking mess."

The man said the last evenly, _almost clinically_. It reminded Jade of the nurse in the medical ward; however, this soldier lacked any semblance of care. His words were strictly factual, making Jade lose any joy from learning Orin was free from the wolves… if only to be cared for by _them_.

But worse... so much _worse_ than the asshole's apathy toward her brother was what followed: Chelsea's laugh – a loud bark that clapped against rocks and trees.

"Yeah, his sister thought she could keep him from combat duty with that lancing chop-job. Guess she doesn't know that Swifties take just about any cut of meat from the Academy as long as it's still kicking… I mean, think about Jamison, for example. He might be a shitty shot, but compare him to some of the other recruits…"

There was so much easy indifference in Chelsea's voice, so much cold amusement as she continued to speak, that Jade was sure she didn't know the girl – the woman standing only yards away – the person who was supposed to be her friend and _family_. It had to be a cruel illusion in the dark – a figment brought on by hellish surroundings and circumstance, because that was _not_ the Chelsea she knew.

She stood without registering it, unfocused in her emotions. There was no weapon in her hand but she climbed up and over the ridge regardless, stepping into the vehicle's flood lights.

Nothing was what it was supposed to be anymore and she needed more than answers.

She needed a moment of blind _anger_ with unsteady hands and words. Because Orin was right in this moment. Hate _could_ change things.

Chelsea and the soldier were turned away, talking about wolves and lives lost, unaware of her approach. But they _would_ see her.

_I'll make them see._

Her legs took a final step out of shielding darkness and then she was bathed entirely in enemy light. Both washed and dirtied by it, but relishing it just the same.

The swath of mountainside was visible to hers eyes now – rocks, shrubs, slope, the vehicle, the weapons, the bodies. Predatory strategies she had learned underground came flooding back in rapid and unconscious analysis.

They were laughing; still unaware of her presence.

She drank in the harshness of it, preparing to strike, and then, so abruptly she couldn't distinguish the new hurt from her blurred fury, she felt fire at the nape of her skull.

Her eyes closed on a picture of brilliance and pain as night wrapped its dark tendrils around her once more.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, it's been awhile... I'm sorry about that. And it's a poor excuse, but this chapter was rewritten several times, as a few characters made me jump off the plot ship I was currently aboard.

To anyone who wondered if the wolf Jade ran into was modeled after Lupe and her desert wolfpack from SatAM, you would be correct. However, these mountain wolves are a bit more ruthless, and a little less tolerant of humans. It's difficult for me to imagine the Mobian creatures not holding a grudge after everything Robotnik has done to their planet.

As always, reviews are a writer's fuel. :)


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